Dark Innocence
by heyepic
Summary: His unkempt appearance was well-known by students and teachers alike at our school; his cold and reclusive behavior was even more recognizable. Joker/OC.
1. Chapter One

**Hello, hello. This idea has been on my mind for awhile now, so I thought I'd give it a go. It's basically about this girl who grew up with the Joker; his only friend, if you will. He disappears after high school and she realizes he's a psychotic clown ten years later and… yeah… you get the point. I won't give away too much ;D**

**This first chapter introduces us to a bit of the Joker's earlier life and someone who had a large part of it. I think the 2****nd**** chapter will include a bit more (high school, most likely).**

**Please enjoy : )**

**Disclaimer: Batman/The Joker belongs to DC Comics; the OC belongs to me.**

**One**

His tattered sneakers swung lightly with each slow swing, his deep brown eyes drawn downward, half-concealed by unruly blonde curls. An old, oversized t-shirt fluttered against his thin frame in the breeze, and a pair of faded shorts hung loosely on his hips. His hands gripped the chains on either side of him tightly, his rough-looking fingers tapping against the smooth metal slightly.

His unkempt appearance was well-known by students and teachers alike at our school; his cold and reclusive behavior was even more recognizable. Each day he arrived at school with his torn backpack and concerning attire, children would whisper amongst themselves while teachers would quietly question it. Each day he sat in our classroom, not a word escaped his lips. His lanky body would be stiff and unmoving, his eyes blank and indifferent as the day progressed. His hair was wild, his fingernails jagged and containing traces of dirt. His odd behavior concerned adults and kept peers away from him.

When the time came to change seats, the classroom was in a bustle as friends waved over other students to sit near them. I chewed on my lower lip as I saw a close friend of mine motion enthusiastically to the seat next to her. Slowly glancing at the usual empty seat next to him, I swallowed and slowly made my way over to him. Gnawing at my lip with more pressure, I slowly sank into the seat, ignoring the quiet gasps from around me. He did not look at me as I sat. He maintained the same blank stare, while I soaked in the shocked expressions from fellow friends.

Recess came around, and I saw that he was sitting alone on the swings as he had everyday, his eyes locked on the woodchips below him. Walking over to him, I took a seat on the bright red seat next to him and kicked around the woodchips, idly tracing patterns in the soil beneath. Again, he did not look up at me. I began to swing gently, humming to myself quietly. As I hummed softly, my eyes rolled to the side to observe him. He continued swaying slightly, his face expressionless. There were no words exchanged between us during that day; I simply hummed to myself, ignoring the disgusted looks from my friends while he swung quietly.

The next day, our teacher had allowed us to eat lunch outside during recess. It was a beautiful spring afternoon, with soft white clouds lining the light blue sky. A fresh, crisp breeze blew gently through the playground, and the sun was warm and comforting on our bare arms. I noticed him sitting on the swing and decided to take a seat next to him again. Grasping my paper bag in my right hand, I trotted over with a bit more confidence than the day before and sat on the red seat again. As I adjusted my body in the seat, I had noticed that his hands were empty. He had no lunch bag. I slowly opened my bag, and saw a peanut butter sandwich, a juice box and a bag of carrot sticks resting in the bottom. Reaching in, I took out the sandwich. Glancing over at him, I gently tore the sandwich in half, getting some peanut butter on my fingers in the process. Picking up one half, I extended my hand towards him, offering it to him. Instead of his usual blank stare, I noted that his eyes were cast down on the sandwich half, a flicker of surprise evident in them for only a moment.

"It's, um, peanut butter," I spoke to him for the first time with a shrug. He stopped swinging for a moment, his feet coming to rest on the ground. His left hand slowly loosened its grip on the chain next to him and reached out to take the sandwich. I couldn't help but feel a small smile grace my lips as he took the sandwich and raised it to his mouth, taking a hesitant bite. I smiled to myself as I began swinging, being careful to balance the bag on my lap, and happily bit into my half, savoring the rich flavor. I began humming to myself again as I ate, licking some peanut butter off of my finger.

"I hum 'cause it makes me happy," I spoke again, noticing that his half was gone. Reaching into my bag, I took out the bag of carrot sticks and extended it toward him. His nose crinkled slightly, but he reached in and took a stick anyways, looking at it hesitantly. I took one as well and bit down on it, feeling it crunch beneath my teeth. "My mom's always hummed to me, so I guess that's why I do it too."

He was quiet, as I expected, but his eyes were turned slightly towards me. I think for the first time in those few days I'd been in his presence, he was listening to me. As we ate the remaining carrots and shared a juice box, I began talking more to him. I told him my name and talked to him about my younger brother and my dog Pepper. I told him that my favorite food was vanilla ice cream and that I hated the bright pink bows my mom clipped in my hair every morning. He said nothing the whole time I spoke, but his eyes were continuously turned to me. He was listening to me, I realized, and it made me smile slightly.

After I ran out of things to talk about, I swung gently and began to hum again. Out of the corner of my eye, as he began to sway lightly as well, I saw his grungy fingers begin to move slightly against the cool chain. He was tapping his fingers… to my humming. My lips curved into a smile again and I continued humming, the breeze ruffling our hair and the lunch bag lying empty between us.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Weeks continued on, and I'd learned from seeing one of his spelling papers, that his name was Jack Napier and that he was eight years old. At recess, we would sit on our swings, while I talked about different parts of my day and he quietly listened. Some days, I would simply hum while he tapped his fingers, the silence comforting and familiar between us.

I was often tempted to ask him why his clothes were so tattered or why he never spoke, but I knew that he wouldn't respond. Jack hadn't said a word to me since I'd begun spending time with him. Oddly enough, I didn't mind it. There was something about him that I liked. I only realize now that it was the fact that he _listened_ to me. My other friends, who had no longer played with me after school or bothered to invite me to eat with them anymore, never actually listened to me. Jack was different. Jack was always listening to me.

One particular day at recess, we had sat at our usual spots on the swings and swung lightly. That day was very different from the usual days, though, because that day was the first time Jack spoke to me. We had swung silently, and I had been quiet that whole day. My down behavior had not gone unrecognized by Jack; his eyes were watching me expectantly as we sat. When I heard his voice, I almost jumped from surprise.

"What's wrong with you?"

It was weird, hearing him speak. His voice was like other boys in our class – slightly squeaky and high, but there was something very peculiar about his. It wasn't chipper. It wasn't _normal_. His voice was monotonous; something very odd for an eight year old boy.

When he spoke, I looked up in shock, my eyes wide and my mouth slightly agape. "I… um… what?"

His dark eyes bore into mine as his mouth curled slightly into what appeared to be annoyance. "I asked…" He licked his lips slightly, "What's wrong with you?"

"Oh," I nodded slightly in comprehension and then glanced up at him. "What do you mean?"

"You're not humming."

Ah. He had noticed? I swallowed hard as he said this. Shrugging lightly, I attempted to force a smile to my lips. "I guess I just don't feel like it today."

"Why?"

I felt my lower lip quiver as my eyes dropped to the woodchips below. I felt his dark eyes on me still. Letting my shoulders drop, I breathed out shakily. "Pepper died last night… she was real sick."

He was quiet after I said this, his eyes shifting forward slowly. After a minute or so, I saw that he had begun to swing again. I swallowed and began to swing softly. He didn't speak again for the rest of the day.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Sometime throughout elementary school, I'd realized that Jack Napier was my best friend. Each year we had class together, we would always have seats next to one another. Recess didn't change; we would share my sandwiches and juice on the red swings together, with me chatting happily or humming quietly and him listening intently. Jack and I spent time together in school, but oddly enough, neither of us had seen the other's home or family. Not once had we spent time together outside of school, and we both appeared to be content with that.

In fifth grade, I noticed a change. Jack began to leave class around the same time, one fifteen, with a stiff looking woman adorning a tight bun and glasses. She would lead him out of the room and bring him back an hour later, her lips drawn in a tight line. He would sit down and not say anything, just continue with our arithmetic assignment quietly. I never questioned him where he went. It would only be awhile later that I discovered from overhearing our teacher, Ms. Swenson, that he was required to see a social worker everyday for 'concerning behaviors.'

I realized that Jack was different from other students because of his reclusive mannerisms and refusal to speak often, but it wasn't until seventh grade that I realized just why he was pinned for having 'concerning behaviors.'

The concerning behaviors made themselves known during our lunch period. Luckily, him and I both had fifth period lunch together, which made up for the fact that we had no other classes together. Jack was placed in a gifted program, which had an advanced science and math class, both subjects which I struggled with. He was incredibly smart in both areas, but never commented on his above-average intelligence. Each day we would sit together at our table, sharing my lunch while he helped me with my homework. He began speaking a bit more, explaining a math problem or showing me how to read a graph for my science class.

Our table was next to the "jock" table, where a mean spirited boy by the name of Timothy Williams had sat with his goons. I had especially disliked Timothy because of his persistent bullying of me. I was considered a nobody in junior high because of my association with Jack; my previous friends had refused to have anything to do with me anymore. Timothy loved to take advantage of this fact and would pester me consistently, especially in our history class. One day during lunch as I walked past their table to put away my tray, his leg had sprung out in front of my path, tripping me and sending me crashing to the ground. He laughed hysterically as I struggled to sit up, my face flushed red and my eyes watering in humiliation in pain. As he laughed, I was vaguely aware of Jack strolling over to the table with a fork in hand, his face calm and collected. As I sat up shakily, a blood-curling howl filled the cafeteria.

Timothy fell backwards, his face contorted with pain, his hand grabbing blindly at his arm. Jack stood next to the table, his eyes glittering in malicious amusement as he observed the boy flail in pain. My mouth gaped open slightly in shock at the sight before me; the silver fork Jack had in his hand was now embedded in Timothy's arm. Jack had stabbed him. With a fork.

I looked up from my position on the floor in horrific disbelief at my best friend. His eyes slowly shifted from Timothy to me, the dark orbs locked on mine intensely. His gaze never broke off of mine until a minute later, when the lunch supervisors had ran over and grasped onto him, shouting incomprehensible things and pulling him towards the hallway where the principle's office was. As Jack was hurried out of the cafeteria, my body shook with fear as I saw Timothy lying on the ground, his bloody arm shaking with pain and his face wet with tears.

That was the day that I finally realized that Jack Napier had indeed showed signs of 'concerning behavior.'

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

**AN: So, what do you all think? Please give me feedback, it helps so much! If you like this enough, I'll update soon. : )**


	2. Chapter Two

**Update 1/21/08:**

**I'm not sure if everyone will see this here, so I'll post this on my profile too. This is to answer the question that many of you have.... yes, I will continue this. I wouldn't leave you guys hangin' like that, haha. I'm a full-time college student and second semester just began; it's only been a week and I have a work overload. D=.. anyways, I'll have a new chapter up within a week, I'm hoping.**

**This is to Imogen : I know how you could see the Joker being a talkative thing when he was younger, but the way I see it is that his talking tendencies as an adult are a result of his psychopathic personality. I think that his madness would have had a gradual progression upwards, thus, he would have been quiet, but troubled as a kid. I think the fact that he doesn't speak shows how troubled he is and kind of foreshadows his downfall. Anyways, you're entitled to your opinion, I just thought I'd address that. I'm glad you like the story anyway. ;D**

**Wow, I'm so glad you guys enjoyed the first chapter! It's great motivation to continue writing this. I hope you'll like reading this as much as I like writing it. Anyways, here's number two for ya… please read and review. : )**

**Disclaimer: Batman/The Joker belongs to DC Comics; the OC belongs to me.**

**Two**

High school had brought many revelations to me; the most noticeable being Jack's change in appearance. He was no longer the scrawny, awkward-looking boy with bright blonde curls spilling onto his forehead. He had grown tall, his hair had darkened to a brownish-blonde color and hung in loose curls around his face, and his body had matured into that of a young man, and not even the baggiest oversized t-shirt could hide the sinewy muscles of his arms or the broadening shape of his shoulders. His lips were full; his jaw line strong and masculine. His eyes, however, were the only characteristic of him that had remained the same; the brown orbs were still as dark and cold as they had been when I had met him so many years ago. He was incredibly handsome, though he chose to either ignore or deny this.

His good looks did not go unnoticed by other females at our school. Each day, multiple pairs of gaudily-lined eyes would gaze longingly at him from across the cafeteria or classroom, admiring his boyish countenance and lean body. Each day, he would disregard those looks. My relief upon his disregard to other female attention brought upon another revelation to me; I was crazy about him. Despite his growing violent tendencies and reclusive behaviors, the thought that I was the only person at the school that he spent any time with, even if he rarely spoke, brought flutters to my heart and a smile to my lips.

Our habitual time spent exclusively in school changed a bit in high school; each day after school we would walk to the playground where we'd spent the majority of our time together during elementary school and sit on the same red swings. The walk was almost always quiet on his part. I would talk to him about things happening in my family or in my classes, and he would listen in silence. Once in awhile, though, he would nod his head slightly or mumble a one-worded response, which always made me ecstatic. When we arrived to the swings, we'd take a seat and sway gently in the breeze, the only noise between us being my soft humming and the gentle tapping of his long fingers on the metal chain.

After our time on the swings, we'd stand up and walk opposite ways to our houses. I still hadn't seen his home or family, and he hadn't seen mine. As much as I wanted to, I knew he wouldn't be quite so enthusiastic about it, so I avoided the topic entirely. The walk home from the swings, I remember, was immensely lonely.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Sophomore year, Jack was suspended from school for a week for a chemistry project he brought in. That was the longest week of my life; I didn't see him outside of school and I didn't even have his phone number, so the distance from him for so long was agonizing.

While others made volcano sets or small robots made from scraps of foil and rubber bands, Jack brought in an intricate homemade explosive device made from glue and various household chemicals.

"The idiots," He had hissed angrily on his last day before suspension on the swings, "Suspending me for being intelligent. Fucking _idiots._"

"Jack," I had responded carefully while I swung, my feet tracing patterns in the soil and woodchips like I did when I was a child. "You made a _bomb_. And brought it to _school_. It has nothing to do with your intelligence."

He was silent for a moment, his eyes slowly shifting forward. The light shining on them from the sun made them appear a warmer brown color than usual, and the anger on his face slowly faded as well. He sat calmly before speaking again, in a low voice, with a slight smirk on his lips.

"One day."

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

During the fall of our junior year, he nearly hospitalized a senior named Grant Bennett for giving me a slight concussion. Jack and I had gym class together, and the last unit of the semester was volleyball. We weren't on the same team together, but I was unfortunate to be graced by the presence of Grant on mine. He was known notoriously for his poor losing behaviors and extreme athleticism, and was captain of the baseball team and basketball team. I, however, was the complete opposite. I wasn't the most coordinated or sports-inclined girl, and had trouble doing something as seemingly simple as serving the ball over the net.

One of the last games of the week, my team was up against another one that had more personal meaning to Grant. Todd Hammond, his best friend and right-hand man, was on the opposing team, smiling cockily and spinning the ball on two fingers. The two were obsessed with being the best team in the class, so when the score was tied with less than five minutes until the locker bell rang, the intensity of the game increased drastically.

Before I knew it, the bright white ball was soaring in my direction, and the desperate looks from my teammates were burning into me. The game was resting on my shoulders; I could either win it or mess it up and infuriate Grant. Squatting slightly and resting my hands together in the way that we were shown at the beginning of the unit, I swallowed hard and silently prayed that luck would be on my side and that I'd get it over. I raised my arms up to bump it over and felt my heart skip when the feeling of cool leather brushed against my forearms. I held my breath as the ball flew threw the air, and saw Grant standing stiffly with his head craning to watch the ball as well. As it neared the net, I was sure it would go over. But the disappointed gasps coming from my teammates and the angry roar from Grant proved otherwise.

The ball hit the net and slid down to the waxy floor, bouncing gently and rolling to Grant's feet. The cheers from the other team were almost deafening, and Todd's ecstatic jumping only worsened my situation. I bit my lower lip and glanced up at Grant, who had picked up the ball and was gripping it so tightly that his normally olive-tinged fingers were white. His blue-green eyes sparkled with fury as they burned holes into me and I felt my shoulders slump in defeat. I had lost the game for us.

"I'm sorry…" I shrugged meekly, chewing harder on my lower lip. Grant spun the ball in his hand once, glanced down, and then looked back up at me, rage still etched across his handsome features. A flash of white flew across my vision, and before I realized what had happened, I was sprawled on the floor, an excruciatingly painful pressure on the side of my head. People huddled around me, their distorted voices full of alarm clouding the air. I fluttered my eyelids open and attempted to sit up, mumbling that I was alright, before falling back into a lying position and cradling my head. The last thing that I saw before everything went black was Jack, who was across the gym. He was turned facing our court, his dark eyes almost black as they shifted from me to Grant slowly. His eyes were locked on Grant menacingly, his teeth slightly bared and his hands balled into fists at his sides. I passed out just after that and woke in a hospital bed with bandages and ice on my head, and a couple of cards and bouquet of flowers resting on a table to the side.

Grant wasn't at school the next day.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - -

My decision to attend college after senior year didn't faze Jack, as I'd expected. We'd been sitting on our swings on a Friday afternoon when I'd brought it up. I told him of my plans to be a lawyer for the city's largest law firm one day after I graduated from the university.

"A _lawyer_?" He snorted, shaking his head slightly. His upper lip curled in what appeared to be disgust as we swayed in sync. "A _joke_ is what _that_ is."

"A joke?" I repeated, glancing at him from the corner of my eyes. "It's no joke. I want to help bring justice to people…"

He let out a low laugh at this, his teeth gleaming in the sunlight and his eyes narrowed slightly. Sighing heavily, he shook his head, the dark blonde locks fluttering about his face. He then began to swing with more force, his laughter now completely faded and his face stoic once more. I took this as the cue that he was done conversing about that topic. Licking my lower lip lightly, I decided on a different topic, one that involved him as well.

"Prom's coming up in a few weeks," I commented softly, swinging gently and tracing the cool metal of the chain with my fingers. He didn't say anything. I sighed gently and shrugged. "I'd kind of like to go…" I glanced over at him and saw that his eyes were shifted a bit in my direction. "Maybe, um, you'd like to go too?"

"No."

I felt my heart sink as he replied monotonously, his eyes shifting forward again. I sighed shakily and looked up at him with hopefully eyes, a frown tugging at the corners of my lips. "Why not? It might be fun…"

Jack smirked at this, his brown eyes glittering darkly in the rays of light cascading on us. He licked at his full lower lip before opening his mouth. "Not likely."

I bit my lip gently and felt my shoulders slump sadly. Looking up at him, I decided to try one last time. "But Jack-"

My sentence was cut off by a hard gaze protruding from his face, his head turned sharply in my direction. He stopped swinging. His dark eyes locked on mine, and I knew that this look was anything but friendly. I swallowed and nodded slightly, looking forward, swaying gentle and humming under my breath.

I avoided the topic after that.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Less than a week later, during my biology class, an extremely good-looking boy named Joshua Walters had approached me before the bell rang. He had a single pink rose twirling between his fingers and a sly, confident smile on his mouth. My heart nearly fell to the floor when he asked me to the prom. The feeling was both euphoric and a bit sickening; I was going to prom… but without Jack.

I was extremely fidgety throughout the day, especially when the time came to walk home with Jack. I sat on a bench year the front doors, my knee bouncing anxiously as I waited for him to appear from the front doors. I knew that he would immediately recognize that something was up; he was unbelievable at reading people, especially those he knew well. I told myself that I shouldn't be so nervous; Jack probably wouldn't care. I began chewing on the inside of my lip as I saw a glimpse of him behind a group of students.

He walked out, wearing an old pair of jeans and a brownish-colored long-sleeved shirt that had clearly been in his wardrobe for awhile. Small pieces of thread fluttered against his jeans at the ends as he walked, and a tiny hole or two was visible, even from where I was. The sleeves were rolled up around his elbows, exposing his forearms. I secretly loved it when he rolled his sleeves up because it allowed me to see his beautiful arms. Jack had the sexiest arms I had ever seen. They were toned and smooth and a light tan color and had light hairs sprinkled over the forearms. I longed to touch them, to run my fingertips over them, but I knew that was out of the question.

His walk had more confidence, I had begun to notice, since we started high school. He walked with a bit of a swagger now; nothing extreme or ridiculous, but there was a definite change noticeable. As he walked over to me, his gaze locked on me, I felt my stomach begun to flutter uncontrollably. He stopped in front of me, and I glanced up at him quickly. He was so close to me that I could see how much lighter his hair looked under the bright rays of the sun, or see the light brown swirls and tiny specks of green highlighting his eyes. He was so close that I could smell him. His scent was intoxicating. There was a hint of chemicals, from his hobby of experimentation in his honors chemistry class and at home, and the slight indication of sweat as well. He did not wear any sort of cologne, but underneath the sweat and chemicals was an amazing musky scent. He smelled so male. It drove me crazy at times, how masculine he smelled. I just wanted to… touch him… hug him… kiss hi-

"Ready?"

His low voice and penetrating gaze broke me from my thoughts, and I felt my cheeks flush slightly as I nodded, standing up shakily. As we walked together towards the park, I continued nervously chewing on my lip, desperately trying to think of something to talk about. I knew if I did not start babbling about something, he'd immediately know something was wrong. As we walked in a seemingly awkward silence, I felt his eyes shifting towards me every few minutes. He knew something. I figured.

We arrived at our swings and sat down, the silence still heavy and uncomfortable between us. I dropped my backpack to the ground between us and unzipped it to throw a sweater which was too warm to be wearing into it. I began to swing gently, humming a tune shakily under my breath. Jack wasn't swinging, I noticed. Slowly turning my head, I saw that his heavy gaze was lazy and slightly hooded. He blinked slowly before opening his mouth.

"You're better off telling me now. I'm going to find out eventually anyway."

I swallowed hard and forced a light laugh out of my lips. "W-what?" I laughed again and shook my head. "Tell you what?"

He sighed slightly and rolled his eyes a bit. "Whatever it is you're hiding from me."

"Hiding from you?" I repeated before shaking my head. "I'm not hiding anything from you."

His brown orbs shifted from my face down to the backpack between us before lighting up. A slow smirk formed on his lips as he gazed down in my backpack. I glanced down to see what he was looking at, but the realization hit me before I knew it.

The pink rose.

I had put the rose that Joshua had given me earlier in the day in my backpack. And I apparently hadn't hidden it well enough in my backpack. As my eyes widened and my hand reached for my backpack to pull it back, Jack glanced up and noticed this. His arm shot down into the open bag and yanked out the slightly wilted flower, his eyes glittering maliciously as he eyed it. He twirled it between two long, slender fingers before letting his gaze land on me once more.

"That's, um, just something I picked up o-off the ground when we were outside f-for gym," I lied in a trembling voice. His eyebrow arched at this; I knew he didn't believe it for anything. His gaze returned to the flower, twirling it slowly between his fingers, a cruel smirk on his lips.

"Pretty, pretty," He murmured under his breath, studying the prickly green stem and running a finger over the soft petals. "I wonder who gave you such a pretty, _pretty_ flower." He looked up at me, the smirk gone, and the sparkle in his brown orbs replaced by what appeared to be anger. "Who gave this to you?"

"N-nobody," I lied, shaking my head.

He sighed again, let his eyes close for a moment, and then opened them slowly, his jaw set tight in annoyance. "_Who_ gave this to you?" He repeated, his voice lower than before.

I inhaled sharply, deciding I should tell him. Swallowing hard, I shrugged lightly. "A boy in my biology class."

The smirk returned to his lips and he nodded slightly, his eyes returning to the rose in his hand. "Does this _boy_ have a name?"

"Y-yes."

He looked up at me expectantly, irritation written clearly across his handsome features. I sighed and shrugged again, attempting to act nonchalant about the whole situation.

"Josh Walters gave it to me."

His eyes lit up at my answer, his lips twisting into yet another cruel smirk. Blinking slowly, his brown eyes gazed at me accusingly. "Why?"

I cleared my throat and looked down at my feet, swaying lightly. As my heart pounded against my ribcage, my feet traced more patterns into the soil below me. "He, um, asked me to prom." I bit my lower lip gently before deciding to elaborate before he asked any more questions. "I-I'm going with him."

Jack was quiet when I said this, his dark gaze shifting between the flower and my face. His jaw was clearly clenched and his right hand was balled up into a fist at his side. He was angry, I realized. Suddenly, he stood up with an abruptness that made me jump slightly in my seat. Brushing off his jeans, he reached down with his free hand to grab his backpack and I realized that he was leaving.

"Where are you going?" I asked, leaning up to look at him, my swinging coming to a halt as my feet rested on the ground. He didn't answer me. He didn't even _look_ at me. "Jack…" He ignored me still, slinging his backpack over his shoulder and pushing some of his hair out of his face. "This isn't fair! You have no right to be angry!" I said with a boost of confidence. Seeing him begin to walk away, I leaned forward. "You didn't want to go with me!"

He stopped then, and turned slightly, his eyes looking down at the pink rose in his left hand. Twirling it twice between his fingers, he glanced at me with those haunting brown eyes of his. With a sneer on his face, he turned to walk away again and I felt my heart drop. He was unbelievably angry with me. As I watched him walk, I sighed under my breath and began swinging again. I saw his arm reach up and then toss something over his shoulder towards me. I looked down at my feet where it had landed, and then back up to his back. It was the pink rose, broken in half.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Prom was amazing. It was held at a small hotel in the downtown area on a warm May evening. Josh had been a complete gentleman the whole time, dancing with me and holding my hand and getting me punch when I was thirsty. He had kissed my cheek lightly during one song as we swayed together to the slow music. I remember thinking that he was a pretty decent dancer. I also remember wondering if Jack was a good dancer.

Jack was on my mind the majority of the night. I would compare everything Josh did to Jack. Would Jack do this? Would Jack say that? How would Jack do it? Although it was a fun experience with Josh, I would have given anything to have gone to it with Jack instead.

When it was over, Josh had driven me home and walked me to my door, my arm linked in his. He smiled down at me as we approached the front porch, the light flickering on above us. I bit my lip and smiled bashfully up at him.

"Thank you," I said softly, the smile still on my lips. "For such a nice night."

He nodded and grinned, "It was my pleasure. I had a great time." He glanced down at my mouth a few times, I noticed. As I glanced up at his face, I saw that it was nearing closer to mine. He was going to kiss me, I realized.

The feeling of his lips against mine was foreign; I had never been kissed before. His lips were warm and slightly chapped as they pressed against mine. I didn't know what to do, but I attempted to tentatively kiss back my opening my lips lightly against his. He seemed to like this and groaned against my mouth, resting his hands on the small of my back and pulling me against him. His lips became more aggressive against mine, and I gasped lightly when I felt his tongue run across the seam of my lips. He pulled away, only to lay kisses down my neck. It was then that I began to feel uncomfortable.

"You said your parents are in the city for the night?" He asked breathlessly against my neck between kisses. I nodded slightly, swallowing hard as I felt his tongue run across my collar bone. "Let's go up to your room…"

I pushed him away slightly. "I don't think so."

He continued kissing and licking at my neck, his hands gripping my hips almost painfully. "C'mon, let's go up to your room… I'll make it worth your while…"

I pushed him away harder this time. "No, Josh."

He looked up at me this time, his lips full and slightly pink from our kissing. "What? Why not?"

I sighed and shrugged, looking down at the wooden planks of the porch. "I'm not comfortable with that." I glanced up at him and saw that he had an annoyed expression on his face. "I'm sorry."

He scowled at me then, his dark eyebrows furrowing together. "I'm sure you are, you fucking tease." He reached down to rub the front of his pants crudely. "Giving me a fucking _hard-on_ and then telling me no? What kind of bitch _does_ that?"

I gasped at his foul language directed towards me. I had never expected him to behave like this; he always seemed so nice and sweet, especially at the dance. I turned to open my door. "I-I'm going to go now. Thank you, again."

I was stopped from walking into my house, though, when a hand gripped my arm roughly. I looked down with widened eyes to see Josh's hand wrapped tightly around my forearm, his teeth bared in a snarl. "I don't _think_ so."

I attempted to yank my arm out of his grasp. "Let _go_ of me!"

He ripped his hand off of my arm, only to take a threatening step forward. I backed up, feeling my back hit the door, my heart pounding in my chest rapidly. "Get away from me…" I managed to rasp at him, my hand feeling for the doorknob. He laughed cruelly at me then and raised his hand.

"You're nothing but a worthless, prude _bitch_," He hissed. His large hand made had contact with the side of my face, causing little white blotches to flood my vision. I slumped against the door in shock as he walked off my porch and towards his car. My face was throbbing, and when I reached up to gently touch the area where he had hit me, right under my eye on my cheekbone, the skin was tender.

As I fell against the door and warm teardrops slid down my burning cheeks, I couldn't help but think about Jack.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

The next morning, I was jolted awake at eight from the phone ringing loudly on my nightstand. I had groggily picked it up and discovered it was one of my only friends outside of Jack, Lisa. She was sobbing hysterically on the line, which caused me to sit up in alarm.

"What is it, Lise?"

She sobbed harder, and then took a few shaky breaths. "I-it's Josh Walters…" She stuttered sloppily into the phone. My eyes widened at this.

"What about him?" I swung my legs over the bed and sat stiffly, waiting for her response. Her wails were the only response I received. "Lise, pull yourself together!" I demanded. "What about Josh?"

"I-I'm sorry, K-Katie," She sputtered. "H-he's dead!"

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Monday morning rolled around. There was a lovely black, blue, brown and yellow colored bruise sprawled across my right cheekbone. I had attempted to cover it up with a light makeup, but didn't do it very well. The ugly spot still marred my skin.

As I walked to school, I saw a figure sitting on the swing at the park Jack and I spent time at. Frowning to myself, I walked closer and saw that the figure slumped over in the swing was indeed Jack. This was odd; I never saw Jack in the morning, only during and after school. Walking towards him, I saw that he was swaying lightly in the cool breeze, his eyes blank and his long fingers tapping idly against the chains. Taking a seat next to him, I sighed heavily.

"He was found dead," I said softly. He was silent as I said this, his dark eyes staring forward. I chewed on my lower lip tenderly. "In an alley near the drugstore… his throat was slit."

I glanced over at Jack and saw the same malicious sparkle in his eye that was present when he had succeeded in embedding his fork in Timothy's arm in the seventh grade. A small smile crept up on his lips as he swung. That's when I realized.

Oh _God_.

"Jack…" I whispered while looking down, fear fluttering throughout my body. It _couldn't_ be true. He _didn't_ kill him…

He turned and looked at me then, though his eyes were not gazing into mine as they usually had. They were locked on my right cheekbone, where the nasty bruise that Josh had given me nights ago was present. His eyes roamed over every inch of the bruise, studying it in great detail, before locking on my eyes again. I saw his hand leave the chain that it was gripping and hesitantly rise towards my face. Reaching out, his fingertips brushed against my cheekbone. I almost flinched away, but the shock that Jack Napier was touching me overshadowed that. His hand pressed fully against my cheek gently, stroking softly, before dropping to his side. He then stood up and began walking in the direction where his home presumably was.

I shook my head frantically, not believing what had just happened. Looking at him stroll away, I stood up a bit. "Where are you going?" I shouted to him. He didn't answer. He didn't look back. I swallowed hard.

That was the first and last time Jack Napier touched me. That was also the last time I saw him. I reached up with my hand to brush against the area where he had touched just minutes ago. His hand was so warm and soft, I remembered. It was lean and strong and perfect. Just like him. Sighing to myself, I stood up and walked to school.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

The memories of my childhood with him flooded through my mind as I sped down the highway towards Gotham City. Here I was, a twenty-seven year old woman, racing into danger to pursue the truth and to possibly find the man I had fallen in love with ten years ago. But why?

I glanced down at the passenger seat and looked over the face spread across the front page of the newspaper resting there. A maniacal smile, grotesquely painted features, and lank, greasy curls were splayed on the page. I had to know if this was possible; if this _madman_ was the young man I had been crazy about years ago. I told myself that it couldn't be true; that it wasn't. But then I remember the dark, brooding, brown eyes the maniac on the newspaper possessed, and thought of how similar they were to his.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

**AN: Long chapter ;D. Hope you enjoyed. I'm trying to keep him in character as much as possible. Please, please, please review. You have no idea how happy it makes me. Good feedback, bad (constructive please) feedback, I just want some feedback :D. Thanks for reading!**


	3. Chapter Three

**AN: So… you guys will probably kill me. It's been since January that I've updated and this chapter is short. I'm sorry. I just had to get in where my character (see if you can pinpoint her name in this one) is staying while she hunts down her "sweetheart." Anyways, please enjoy despite the lack of lengthiness. And please provide feedback. The good, the bad, the ugly, I'll take it. I'll be updating more frequently now that I'm healthy again, and your opinions are appreciated greatly.**

**Enjoy. =)**

**Chapter Three**

I chewed on a carrot stick happily, my eyes shifted towards the smooth cerulean sky, my light pink sneakers kicking lightly in the air. My hand gripped the chain gently on the side of me, my other one dipping into the crinkled bag sitting on my lap. Popping the remainder of the stick into my mouth, I passed the bag to the right of me, and he took it without a word. I heard him reach into the paper confines and saw a brief flash of orange. Since his initial disgust for carrots a year ago, he'd grown accustomed to the vegetable since our habitual lunch dates.

"My mom said I can get a new bike for my birthday," I said between chewing, my eyes glittering with excitement. "It's really pretty and pink and has these cool white stars…" I trailed off with a sigh, smiling to myself. "Oh! _And_ it has those strings that hang from the handles, you know?"

I didn't expect him to answer. I was content with his nonverbal responses by now. Smiling softly to myself, I pushed a few stray strands of hair back from my face; they'd fallen out of the yellow bow clipped in loosely. Chewing on my lower lip gently, I glanced at him, feeling hesitant in my suggestion. "Maybe we can ride bikes together sometime."

He was quiet, as usual. He was chewing on his share of the carrots silently, his eyes locked forward on an unknown object. Swallowing, he reached into the bag resting on his legs, his eyes shifting down quickly before averting ahead of him once more. I felt my stomach churn slightly with unease; his eyes usually flicked in my direction at least once while I talked… today, he seemed to have complete disinterest in me.

"You can borrow my brother's if you want... It's a little small but – "

"Why?" He snapped suddenly, turning to me, his eyes sharp and angry. "_Why_ do you talk so much?"

I jumped slightly at the coldness of his voice. I looked over at him and saw his dark eyes fixated on me, a sneer on his lips. I was taken aback; he'd never questioned my chatty behavior, and had even shown a bit of interest at times. His eyes didn't leave my face, nor did the cold curl of his upper lip. Swallowing and feeling my lower jaw quiver slightly, I shrugged lightly.

"My parents don't let me talk."

His eyes widened for a fraction of a second before relapsing into their usual cold, stoic manner. He swiftly turned forward again after a moment, his jaw appearing tighter than prior. I was quiet for the remainder of our recess, feeling self conscious about my usual habit of talking to him. It was the first and last time he ever questioned me. It was also the last time he snapped at me for it. The next day, his eyes were once again fixated on me expectantly once more. Somehow, I think part of him felt slightly guilty. In his own way.

- - - - - - -

He plagued my mind _constantly_. Since my decision to take a trip into the city, Jack had consumed my conscious thoughts and dreams in every form possible. Lying awake in bed, I swallowed hard and stared at the gentle motion of the ceiling fan. Tonight it'd been nine year old Jack that had inundated my slumber, and the memory was so vivid that I felt it had occurred just yesterday.

Drawing in a shaky breath, I sat up unsteadily and swung my legs over the mattress, my arms sustaining my weight on either side of me. Standing up, I quietly walked to the door and opened it slowly, intending on getting a glass of water. Stepping into the hallway, I strode into the kitchenette and retrieved a small glass from an overhead cabinet. I filled it quickly, standing still as I took a strong gulp, my eyes fluttering closed as the cool liquid rushed down my throat.

"Can't sleep?"

I jumped at the sound of a voice from behind me, and choked for a moment on my drink. Clearing my throat and swallowing hard, I wiped my mouth and turned around.

"You scared me," I breathed out, setting the glass on the counter. Wiping my mouth one last time, my eyes skimmed the figure in front of me. Disheveled brown hair held up loosely, tired blue eyes, and a baggy red pajama set. She crossed the kitchen behind me and opened the fridge, her hand on her hip. I walked around the counter and fell into a chair, my shoulders hunched as I leaned on an arm tiredly.

"Cookie dough or chocolate mint?" She asked suddenly, looking at me from her position in front of the open freezer. Grabbing a carton and popping it open, she groaned and shook her head. "Nevermind. Chocolate mint it is." She set the presumably empty cookie dough carton next to the sink and closed the freezer, grabbing a spoon on her way to the table.

"Do you want some?" She offered, sitting across from me in the dim light above us. I glanced at the carton and shook my head, some hair falling into my forehead. I pushed it out of my face, half expecting a yellow bow to be clipped there. That damn dream would not leave my mind.

"It's three in the morning," I told her, glancing at the glowing green numbers on the stove. She nodded, scooping a bite of ice cream into her mouth.

"I know."

"Can't sleep either?"

She sighed, taking another bite. "I'm worried about Harvey," She admitted. "He's come home so late recently."

"Oh," I responded quietly. "I thought the DA had a busy schedule. Especially one from Gotham. _Especially_ one courting Rachel Dawes," I teased with a grin.

"Oh, stop," She smiling her teeth gleaming for a moment. "And as for being busy…" She cocked an eyebrow at me. "At three am?" I smiled sheepishly at this and she let the spoon drop into the container with a soft thud. Leaning back, she crossed her arms, shaking her head slightly. I chewed on my lower lip softly before looking up tentatively.

"You don't think…"

"No," She answered immediately. "It's not that. He's…he's faithful." She sighed softly again, shrugging. "I'm just worried because of all that he's getting himself into right now."

"What do you mean?"

She licked her lips soundly, her eyes focused on the carton in front of her. "He's been getting involved with the mob cases in the area," She replied. "He's working with the Lieutenant and Batman…" She went quiet for a moment, her mouth downturned in a subtle frown. She blinked once, slowly, and then sighed heavily. "And then there's the increase in crime lately… I don't know, I'm just worried."

"Crimes are normal in a big city like Gotham," I said quietly, inwardly knowing that the crimes she was referring to weren't typical _anywhere._

She laughed, shaking her head, her fingers tapping across the table softly. "You've only been here a few hours, I know, but if you _knew_ what was happening recently, you'd understand."

"Like pick pocketing?" I questioned, still quiet. "Or house robberies? Is that what you mean?"

"No, they're more serious," She replied, her eyes downcast on the table. She glanced up at me hesitantly. "Bank robberies, homicides… I'm surprised you haven't heard about them. They're all over the news and papers."

Of course I had heard of them. The news that a Gotham bank was a victim of yet another attack by a raging madman reminded me of my intentions nearly every time I turned on the television or opened a newspaper. I feigned surprise, though, when she told me this. "I didn't…" I licked my lips slightly, and shifted in my seat. "I didn't think it was that bad."

"I don't want to scare you, Katie," She said softly, her gentle blue eyes meeting mine. She forced a smile to her full lips. "You just picked a hectic time to visit me, is all."

Rachel and I had gone to college together for law school. I'd met her in an international law seminar, and maintained a close friendship with her since. I lied when I called her days ago gushing on how much I wanted to visit her; she couldn't know my real intentions, not now anyway. I cleared my throat quietly and broke the silence.

"Do they know who is doing it?"

"Yes and no," She replied. "They know _who_ is doing it, they just don't have a name to put to his face," She paused, running her fingertips over the sticky rim of the ice cream carton. "He dresses in clown makeup and a tacky suit. People are calling him the Joker or something."

"That's… crazy," I hesitated, attempting to find the right words to use. She laughed at this, a light, pleasant sound to my ears. Letting out a heavy exhale, she nodded, her eyes glimmering in amusement.

"That's one word to describe it. Welcome to Gotham, I guess." She glanced up at me then, her eyes locking on me. "Do you miss it at all?"

I nodded slightly, leaning back in the chair, hearing it creak quietly beneath my back. "I do, I guess," I said honestly. "I mean, spending countless nights talking all night in our tiny dorm room _did_ have some positive points to it," I joked playfully, smiling at her.

"This does feel all too familiar," She nodded in agreement. Her eyes rolled up to the ceiling, her eyes shining in the light above us. "College… I can't believe it was that long ago." She looked at me again, cocking her head to the side slightly. "I'm just surprised you didn't stay with law. I still think you'd make a great lawyer."

"No, no," I waved a hand up in protest, laughing lightly. "I'm nowhere _near_ as strong or confident as you. Which is why you're assistant to the district attorney and I'm teaching junior high English in a crappy suburb."

"Oh, stop it," She laughed, shaking her head, some brown strands falling out of the tie at the back of her head. "You like your job and I like mine. I think that constitutes success for both of us." She paused for a moment before leaning forward. "_And_ you're good at what you do. That counts for something, right?"

"Yeah," I smiled sheepishly, glancing down at the table before averting my eyes to the clock again. "Wow, I can't believe we've been talking for nearly half an hour."

"I can," She snorted teasingly. "You and I wouldn't shut up if we didn't have to." She stretched back, her joints cracking with the movement. "You didn't tell me why you're up."

"Oh, I, uh… I had…a, um…" I paused for a moment, sifting through my thoughts for a plausible explanation. "It was just a bad dream."

"Ah," She stood up, stretching once more before grabbing the carton on the table. She walked over the freezer, opening it and setting the carton inside. "Well, I'm going to try to get a few more hours of sleep. You're free to have anything in here," She paused for a moment, setting the sticky spoon in the sink. "As long as it's not the pot roast… that's Harvey's," She rolled her eyes at the last statement and smiled at me before disappearing into her bedroom down the hall.

I sat at the table for a short while longer, my thoughts racing through my head. Jack Napier was running around the city killing innocent people and robbing banks in sloppy makeup and a purple suit. What's the worst that could happen? I swallowed hard and shook the thought out of my head, standing to try to sleep a bit longer. Flipping off the light, I paced into the bedroom and climbed under my sheets, closing my eyes soundlessly.

- - - -

**AN: See. It's short. And lacking a lot of our favorite villain. I assure you, he'll be in the next chapter. Please give me feedback, it makes me so happy. I'll update soon.**


	4. Chapter Four

**I know this wasn't as quick as you probably expected, but hopefully you won't be disappointed. Keep in mind, guys, this isn't going to be a short story. It won't be extremely long, either, but I like to take things slow. Anyways, enjoy the chapter… and give me feedback. : )**

**Chapter Four**

It felt nice to be out of Rachel's apartment and in the pulsing bustle of the downtown area once more, even if I was alone and sipping on an overpriced cup of bitter coffee. I ignored its rancid taste and forced the warm liquid down my throat, desperate for a quick energy kick from my prior sleepless night. Rachel had suggested this café when I mentioned stopping somewhere for some caffeine. She boasted on how wonderful their coffees and Danish pastries were. When I took another hesitant sip, I grimaced. Maybe it was just my cup that was bad?

As I sat back in the chair, setting the paper cup down gently on the smooth tabletop in front of me, I self consciously picked at my fingernails. I felt horribly underdressed in my simple pants and shirt in this coffee shop, especially considering corporate executives were more than likely sitting close by. I let my eyes shift up quickly, quietly studying the customers nearby. Two men sat at the table to the right of me, both adorned in pressed black suits and dark colored ties. One had brown hair combed neatly to the side, his stoic expression unchanging as he almost mechanically lifted his arm to drink from his large cup. The other had darker hair combed in a similar fashion, but moved his hand exuberantly amidst the conversation. A large gold ring gleamed from one finger as his hand passed through a ray of sunlight, and I subconsciously covered my left hand with my right. A familiar pressure from my finger jabbed into the underside of my right palm, and I sighed, uncovering my hand. A silver band with a tiny diamond protruding from the center met my eyes, not once gleaming in the bright light. I tore my eyes from it.

Nate had proposed almost a year ago, on a muggy June evening. We'd been walking outside after eating at the restaurant we had our first date at, and he'd presented me with a small velvet box. He even fell to one knee, his eyes shining in adoration as he rehearsed his love and devotion for me. Onlookers paused to glance at him and me, smiling excitedly and waiting in anticipation. My embarrassment was evident as he did this, but I reluctantly slid the cool metal onto my finger, smiling tightly as he squeezed me firmly in a warm hug, whispering promises into my ear. Since I met him in our last year of college, he'd always been so sweet and… traditional, in many senses. He did not kiss me on our first date, and did not attempt anything further than that for many months.

Even after dating Nate for awhile, I found myself disturbed with how my warped perception was. At night, when he was sound asleep with his short, dark hair exposed to me as he lay on his side, I found myself imagining it was dark blonde waves spilling over slightly on the wrinkled pillow. And then, every day, his beautiful light green eyes blinked open groggily in the early morning and a warm smile spread over his thin lips. I smiled back at him despite my inner yearning to be gazing into the familiar cold, dark eyes of another man. I leaned in and kissed him softly, regardless of my desire to be kissing fuller lips, to be stroking a stronger jaw line. And when he pressed his body against mine in the dark, his breath coming out in heavy, gentle pants against my ear, I burned for the form on top of me to be leaner, longer, firmer.

I should have been in love with Nate. He was perfect. Kind, gentle, compassionate, intelligent, successful. He was charming. He was handsome.

But he wasn't Jack.

"Miss?"

I jumped, startled from the voice next to me. I glanced up in the direction of the voice tensely, and was met with the sight of the young man from the cash register. He glanced down at me nervously before holding out a tan colored wallet.

"I'm sorry," I forced out a short laugh, feeling embarrassed that I had spaced out so easily. He shrugged lightly and a small smile curved at the corner of his lip.

"It's okay," He replied. "I think you left this at the register."

I glanced down at it, noticing the silver buckle on the front and the tiny tear in the corner. Yep, it was mine. I reached for it slowly, smiling politely at the boy standing awkwardly in front of me.

"Thank you." I slipped it into my purse, which was resting open at my feet. My eyes shifted towards the boy, who was glancing at my cup nervously.

"I, um…" He cleared his throat slightly. "Is the coffee alright?"

I picked up the cup then and took a long drink, holding back a mortified grimace as the bitter, cooled liquid slid down my throat. I smacked my lips together once, nodding and grinning up at him.

"It's great."

He made a face then, his eyebrow cocking slightly, before nodding slowly and turning to walk back towards the register. I sighed. I was a terrible liar.

- - - - - -

There was nothing more awkward than sitting alone on a couch with one of your best friend's boyfriends. Except sitting alone on a couch with one of your best friend's boyfriends while he wore an expensive suit and you wore ragged pajama pants. While Rachel was getting ready in the bathroom, I was sitting in silence with Harvey, two untouched glasses of red wine resting on the coffee table before us. I cast a quick glance at the man sitting to the side of me, his blonde hair parted neatly to the side and his strong, angular features catching the table lamp. He sat as stiffly as I did, his hands resting on the tops of his thighs and his shoulders tense against the back of the sofa.

"So," He cleared his throat in the quiet air around us. "You, uh, have plans tonight?"

"Not really," I replied with a shrug. "I figured I could just watch a movie or something."

He nodded slightly, his eyes shifting to look at me. "You're invited to the fundraiser, you know." He let out a low chuckle. "It'll be fun, I'm sure."

"I know, Rachel invited me."

"Oh. Not interested?"

"No, no. It's not that. I'm just tired," I lied, letting out a soft yawn to further prove my excuse. The truth was, Rachel _had_ invited me to Harvey's fundraiser, but the idea of drinking fine champagne in a large group of the rich and elite, people I didn't know, was not appealing to me. Rachel even offered to lend me a dress, claiming that I'd look _amazing _in a silky red number stashed away in her closet, butI'd decided that staying home would be in my best interest.

The silence following my declaration of exhaustion proved to be even more daunting, if possible. I tapped my fingers nervously on the arm of the sofa and chewed on inside of my lip gently, silently begging Rachel to hurry so I wouldn't have to spend another awkward moment alone with Harvey. I liked Harvey, I did. I met him when Rachel and I were both in law school; he was a few years older and completely crazy for her, constantly casting adoring glances in her direction. But Harvey and I were considered to be more acquaintances than friends.

As if my silent prayer was answered, Rachel emerged from the bathroom quickly, strolling across the living room in swift strides as her hands reached behind her head to pin loose pieces of hair into the relaxed hairstyle she adorned. She wore an elegant turquoise gown, which looked absolutely lovely with her dark hair, and her soft features were accentuated with light makeup. Harvey stood immediately, beaming at her as she reached for her purse.

"You look beautiful."

She rolled her eyes at him, smiling sheepishly. "It's not my best, but thank you."

"No, really," I added quickly. "You look great."

"Well…" She began with a sigh, tucking a short strand of hair behind her ear. "…It was the best I could do in an hour." She looked at me and smiled, letting out a charming laugh. "But thank you, again."

As they left, after Rachel attempted one last time to get me into the red silk dress and come to the party, I felt strangely at peace. I enjoyed being alone, a lot of the time. It was a time to reflect and sift through my thoughts. It was relaxing for me. And as I popped a sappy chick flick into the DVD player and cuddled under a soft blanket, my eyelids began to feel heavy, and soon after sitting down for the movie, I drifted off into a comforting slumber.

- - - -

My comforting slumber did not last for more than a few hours, unfortunately. I was jolted awake by the sound of the front door opening frantically and slamming shut with a vibrating force. My eyes blinked open quickly, and I reached up to rub them rapidly in an attempt to see the intruder. As my blurred vision cleared, I sighed in relief as I saw that this was no intruder, it was only Rachel. My heartbeat slowed, and I sank back into the couch, more relaxed knowing that there was no stranger breaking into the apartment. Sitting up more, I saw that Rachel was pouring herself a glass of wine and sitting at the counter. My eyes shifted down to my still untouched glass of wine from hours prior, when Harvey was sitting with me, and I grabbed it as I stood up to walk over to her.

I sat down next to her, and noticed that her hair was almost completely loose, with more strands falling across her shoulders. Her dress was wrinkled, with the sleeves slightly askew on her flushed arms. Her face was tense as she stared down into her glass, taking small sips every once in awhile. Something was wrong, I realized.

"So," I spoke up in the silence, my fingers skimming the delicate rim of my wine glass. "How was it?"

"It was nice," She murmured after taking another drink from her glass. "Bruce always throws the nicest parties."

"Br…Bruce?" I stuttered, suddenly taken aback at her declaration. "Rachel, you didn't tell me _Bruce_ was hosting it."

"I didn't?" She questioned in a flat voice. "Oh. Yes, it was Bruce's idea. It was Bruce's band that played the music. It was Bruce's caterers that provided the food. And it was Bruce's penthouse window that I was thrown out of."

I choked on my wine as she told me this. _What?_

"You were _what_?"

"Thrown out of his window."

My eyes were wide in horror as she continued to sip on her diminishing red liquid, her face surprisingly calm.

"What happened?"

"Well," She began, pausing to lick a few drops of wine from her lips. "The party was crashed."

"By?"

She was silent then, her eyes cast down on the marble countertop. I saw her fingers flex tensely around the neck of her glass and I knew.

Oh.

Rachel sighed then, and continued to elaborate. "And… _he_ was harassing the guests, looking for Harvey, he kept saying-"

"Oh, God, is he okay?"

She nodded slowly, "Yes, he's fine. Bruce took him to safety." She inhaled deeply, leaning back against the chair. "Anyways, I was foolish enough to step up to _him_. And he… he said…" She trailed off for a moment, her eyebrows furrowing. "It doesn't matter what he said. He tossed me out the window."

"You were thrown out of a penthouse window," I repeated slowly, watching as she nodded in response. "How are you…" I motioned to her body quickly with my hand. "You know, _here_?"

She let out a light laugh, one that was characteristic of Rachel Dawes, and I felt more at ease. She smiled slightly, her eyes locked on the refrigerator feet away from us. "Batman showed up, too. He saved me."

"Was anyone else hurt?"

"Judge Surillo was killed," She said softly, before quickly adding, "Not at the party; she was killed in an explosion of some sort." She shrugged lightly. "And the commissioner of the police department was murdered. Poisoned, I think." She swallowed hard, her eyes cast down. "His funeral service is Sunday."

We sat in silence for half an hour or so more, while my thoughts raced frantically through my mind. I didn't know why I was here anymore. The killings were becoming more frequent, more demented, as the days passed, and part of me continued to beg to step into my car and drive back to the safety of my cramped apartment and loving fiancée. But the other part demanded closure. Was this man Jack? I hoped it wasn't, God, I _desperately_ hoped that it wasn't. That's what I told myself, at least. The fluttering in my stomach and the rapid thump of my heart in my chest said otherwise.

- - - - - -

It was an uncharacteristically muggy day in the city, with light grey clouds blanketing the sky and light, cool breezes blowing through every once in awhile. The stone buildings surrounding me seemed even more grey today, with no brilliant sunlight to reflect the colors of them. The gloomy day seemed reminiscent of the event taking place as pedestrians lined up mournfully on the cracked pavement of the sidewalks. I was among them, standing in between an older gentleman and a middle-aged woman. She had a young boy with her, who was gripping onto her gloved hand, sucking on his thumb quietly. I glanced up over the heads of the congested crowds and saw Rachel perched on the stage next to Harvey, her black pea coat wrapped tightly around her slender form. Both she and Harvey had grave expressions plastered across their faces.

It wasn't Rachel's influence for me to attend the funeral service; I'd suggested it at breakfast the morning after the fundraiser. I felt that although I did not know Commissioner Loeb, I should still mourn his loss and exhibit my respect for the man lost. She had insisted that it wasn't necessary, but I persevered and agreed to attend the service with her. She merely smiled wryly in response.

The sounds of bagpipes and drums broke my thoughts, and as I craned my head to the right, I saw the parade of musicians and police officials coming closer. I watched as the lines of men wearing kilts and carrying bagpipes walked by mournfully, their eyes forward as they continuously blew into their instruments. Following them were endless rows of the Gotham City Police Department officials, dressed in finely pressed uniforms and wearing stoic expressions on their stony faces. As the parade of music halted at the front of the stage, I turned to watch as the mayor of Gotham stepped up to the oak podium, clearing his throat into the microphone protruding from it.

"Commission Loeb dedicated his life to law enforcement," He began in a powerful, steady voice, his arms firm on the side of him. "And to the protection of his community. I remember when I-I first took office, and I asked him if he wanted to stay on as commissioner, and he said he would…"

The Mayor's sentimental speech on his 'old friend' did not hold my interest for long, and I found myself studying and observing the people around me. There were inhabitants of every age and shape, each watching their mayor with unprecedented attention. Rachel, too, had exceptional eye contact as she listened attentively to the man on stage. I sighed, turning my attention back to him, my ears catching his voice once more.

"…We must remember that _vigilance_ is the price of safety." He finished, pressing his mouth together firmly and stepping back from the podium as an officer below commanded his men in a loud, sharp voice. I watched as the front row of men followed his voiced instructions, their guns first propped in their hands.

"…Fire!"

The gunshots were let out, and I couldn't help but jump at their loud resonance as they echoed off of the surrounding structures. I chewed on the fleshy portion of my lower lip, silently telling myself that it was part of the ceremony. Another gunshot was let out, and I felt myself less tense. As the loud commander bellowed out his last fire, I prepared myself for the final shots to reverberate around me. My eyes fell on stage at that moment, and I caught a flash of a man wearing glasses darting across stage and throwing his body in front of the mayor. Within a microsecond, the final gunshots rang out, but they were not directed in the air. They were directed on stage. Screams surrounded me as the uniformed officers standing in line broke up, dashing away frantically from the origin of the gunshots. I realized, numbly, that the men holding the guns were attempting to shoot people. I looked up quickly to see Rachel and Harvey being hurried off stage. I had to run.

I darted down the sidewalk, weaving in and out of the thick crowd, my lungs burning from the exertion of the sudden exercise. I heard people around me frantically calling for one another, yelling out and attempting to dash away from the parade just as I was. As I continued running, I made a sharp turn and found myself colliding with a warm, solid object. I fell back from the impact of the collision, and my legs sprawled out beneath me as I looked up to see a uniformed man looming above me. I was panting rapidly, my lungs tingling as I craned my head up slightly to look at him. He was panting just as heavily as I, and as my eyes focused on his face, I felt my breath hitch in my chest.

He made a move to continue running past me, but paused as he noticed my assumed bewildered expression gazing at his face. His body tensed up, and his eyes locked with mine. They were the same cold, dark, nearly-black orbs I had seen every day so many years ago. His features, sharp and pronounced, formed a young, handsome countenance, and his full lips, which were previously pulled back into a vicious snarl, were relaxed and slightly open. Then there were the scars. They extended from each corner of his mouth up onto his cheek, forming horrifically ragged wounds into his light skin. Without the markings on his face, I _knew_ this face. Even _with_ the markings… I _knew_ him. I… knew… this man… He…

Oh my _God._

He was still breathing heavily, and his eyebrows were furrowed above his eyes, a bemused expression written across his features. His eyes darted across my features slowly, and he seemed to recognize something about me as well, but our trance was broken almost immediately as I was hauled to my feet by a strong grip.

"Run, miss!"

I turned to see the older gentleman from earlier, his wrinkled hand gripping my upper arm firmly, dragging me away from the familiar uniformed man. I turned back as he forced me to run with him, and saw that the man was no longer there. I felt my heart sink. I shook it off and continued running. And I ran.

When I arrived back at the apartment, the face of the man from the parade was burned into my memory. His perplexed features were etched into my brain; his cold, dark eyes gazing into mine… the broad shoulders, the full lips…

Yes, I knew him. And he knew me.

I stumbled into my bedroom and fell onto my bed, my chest feeling tight and my stomach churning. I felt like I was going to vomit. I forced my eyes shut, my hands trembling as they fisted into the cool sheets beneath me. Sleep did not come.

- - - - -

**Okay, so, what did you think? I promised he'd make an appearance, didn't I? : ) I didn't want it to be an extremely significant appearance, where you know, there's any dialogue yet, but enough so the story can progress. Please, please, please let me know what you think. **


	5. Chapter Five

**AN: Another update, hooray. I've worked hard on this and I need some serious feedback, so anything you wanna say, good or bad, it's really appreciated. : ) I'll try updating soon, depending on if you guys liked this or not. Adios.**

**- - - - **

**Five**

The pillows propped behind me provided some comfort from the thick headboard of the bed as I leaned into them and closed my eyes. As they fluttered closed, I inhaled slowly and exhaled softly, folding my hands in my lap in a meek attempt to relax. The room was silent except for the muffled echo of heavy traffic flooding the streets outside of my window just across the way. I wasn't in Rachel's apartment any longer. Instead, she'd called me earlier yesterday and begged me to stay at a hotel in the heart of the city, claiming that her apartment wasn't safe for the time being. She didn't, and couldn't, provide details as to where she was, but assured me that she was safe and that Harvey knew of her situation. Despite the anxious feelings exerting an uncomfortable tightness in my chest, I agreed to the arrangements and checked into a room at the Congress Hotel, which was situated in the northern area of the city.

My thoughts were broken by the sound of beeps ringing through the air and the feeling of long vibrations spreading across the bed. My eyes snapped open and I looked down at the side table, where my phone was situated, and picked it up without glancing at the luminescent front screen. I flipped it open and held it to my ear quickly, sitting forward.

"Rachel?"

"Rachel? Try again," teased the deeper voice from the other line. I inwardly groaned and sat back against the headboard again.

"Nate…" I began slowly, chewing on my lower lip as I sifted through my thoughts to say something. "…Hi."

"You don't sound so enthused to be hearing from me." The amusement in his voice was light, but evident, as he spoke, and I held back a roll of the eyes.

"I…of course I'm happy… to hear from you," I responded carefully, pushing my teeth into the fleshy portion of my lower lip with more pressure. "I was just… napping."

"Napping?" He laughed lightly. "It's nearly eight."

"I was tired," I sighed softly and cocked my head to the side to look out the window. "How are you?"

"Oh, you know," He replied. "Work's been busy and whatnot…" he paused for a moment, and I heard him cough quietly. He cleared his throat and continued, "The apartment's awfully lonely without you."

I smiled slightly. "I'll be back soon enough."

"You better," he teased. "I'd probably go crazy if you were gone much longer." He exhaled heavily. "How's your stay? And what's with you expecting a phone call from Rachel? Aren't you staying with her?"

"My stay's been nice," I responded. "And yes, I am staying with Rachel. She, uh, ran out to get some… groceries. So… that's why… I was expecting her to call. To see if I wanted anything." My eyes fluttered closed as I silently prayed that he wouldn't be able to identify my lie.

"I see."

He had no idea.

I licked my lips quickly.

"Yeah."

I nearly winced at the awkward silence that filled the air between us. I was accustomed to these with Nate; he and I were never completely comfortable around one another and the awkward stages of our relationship seemed to linger as time went on. I had learned to accept it and try to ignore situations like these.

"So, hey…." He began softly. "I've been thinking about the wedding… and I figured that instead of a traditional church ceremony we could…"

Unfortunately, his voice had trailed off because my attention was immediately diverted towards the television screen sitting heavily on the large armoire in front of the bed. On screen, the news flashed in bold lettering 'BREAKING NEWS'. I scooted forward on the bed, muttering a few words of agreement into the phone as my eyes locked on the screen, reading over the words slowly. As soon as I comprehended what I was reading, I sat back, my breath hitching in my chest. My mouth went dry. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't swallow. I couldn't _think_.

"…And my cousin knows this florist that's _really_ cheap. I figure if we cut back costs on that –"

"Nate…" I began in a near-whisper, my eyes still wide and locked on the words of the screen. "I-I have to go, I…" I flipped the phone closed before I could hear his response, and it dropped with a soft thud onto the floor below me. I quickly stood up from the bed, leaning down to grab my fallen phone, and punched in numbers I'd read from the television with a trembling hand. When the strong female voice on the phone answered, I was almost afraid I wouldn't have a voice. I swiped my tongue across my lips quickly and swallowed hard.

"I… I need the number… I need to connect… I need the…" I felt my cheeks flush hotly as I struggled to voice my request.

"Ma'am? What city?"

"Gotham," I replied quickly, shaking my head quickly in an attempt to form more coherent sentences. "Gotham city."

"And what location?"

I inhaled slowly. "I need the number…for the MCU."

There were a few moments of silence before the woman spoke again.

"Please hold."

As I waited in those agonizing moments, I let my eyes shift towards the television screen again, my heart thumping against my ribcage rapidly. My eyes reread the words repeatedly, my mouth once again becoming unbearably dry.

_BREAKING NEWS – JOKER IN CUSTODY_

"H-hello?" I fumbled with my words as a male voice echoed into my ear. "Yes… I… I need to come in as soon as possible."

- - - - - - - - -

_Turn back._

_Go home._

_Leave._

My thoughts raced through my head as I stood in the cool night air outside of the large stone building, my eyes locked on the large steel door in front of me. I swallowed hard, shaking the thoughts from my head, and slowly walked up the steps, all the while trying to contain the trembles that erupted through my stiff body. The heavy door exerted a low groan as I slowly pulled it open and the even cooler air inside brushed against my cheeks lightly. I shivered as I stepped inside, walking down the long hallway, listening to the clicks of my heels against the linoleum tiles. As I approached a presumed receptionist desk, I swallowed hard and cleared my throat at the older woman sitting behind the glass. She looked up with indifference written across her pale features.

"Can I help you?"

"I-I'm here to see a…" I paused to look down at the small piece of paper crumpled in my hand. I narrowed my eyes at my messy handwriting and looked up quickly. "James Gordon." I swallowed again and smiled slightly. "My name is Katherine Callahan. I called about an hour ago…"

She studied my features for a brief moment, her eyes narrowing slightly in what I assumed to be suspicion, before dropping down to the desk. She cleared her throat quietly and reached for a telephone. I stood in silence as she punched at a number.

"There's a young woman here. She – " the woman paused and nodded against the receiver, glancing up at me. "Yes… Alright."

She set the phone down gently and pursed her lips for a moment. She finally looked away from me, her eyes shifting to a computer screen near her. "He'll be out in a moment."

"Thank you," I replied quietly, stepping backwards and turning to find a place to situate myself for the time being. I settled on a stiff-looking navy armchair near a bare end table. I crossed my legs uncomfortably in the silence, and nearly jumped when the sound of a door opening echoed from near the receptionist desk. I turned my head to see a man step through, his eyes immediately landing on me. His upper lip was partially hidden by a thick mustache, and a pair of glasses sat perched on the bridge of his nose. He walked forward towards me in strong, confident strides, and I stood from the seat rapidly.

"Miss Callahan?" He inquired in a soft voice, stopping in front of me. His warm eyes twinkled behind the rim of his glasses and the corners of his lips were tugged into a small smile.

"Yes," I nodded, grasping his hand in a polite handshake. "It's nice to meet you, Lieutenant."

He smiled for a moment before turning his head towards the door with a sharp inhale of breath. He tucked his hands into the pockets of his dark slacks before motioning towards the door. "Why don't we step into my office?"

I followed without a sound, walking behind him carefully as he opened a door next to the reception desk. The hallway on the other side was absolutely frigid compared to the reception area, and I felt myself rubbing at the flesh of my arms in an attempt to soothe the goose bumps that had puckered along the fine hairs. He stopped at a door with the words 'Lieutenant James Gordon' boldly printed across the frosted glass and opened it with a soft creak. I stepped inside and closed the door quietly behind me, taking in my surroundings. The office was extremely sparse, with a desk and two chairs behind the only furniture adorning the area. A shelf sat against the wall behind his desk with a few photographs perched atop, and a heavy file cabinet rested beneath the desk itself. Gordon took a seat at the chair behind his desk, which was covered with a mass of messily scattered papers.

"Please, take a seat."

I nodded before swiftly taking a seat, crossing my legs once more and strumming my fingers across the cool metal of the arm of the chair. I sighed shakily and licked at my lower lip.

"Can I get you anything?" He asked in the same soft tone he'd used since he'd greeted me. "Coffee?" He glanced at a water cooler sitting next to the desk, motioning towards it. "Water?"

I shook my head. "No, thank you."

He nodded and cleared his throat slightly, leaning forward on the desk and lacing his fingers together on the mess of paperwork. "So," He began, twiddling his thumbs lightly. "It seemed from our phone call that coming here was very important."

"Yes, well…" I trailed off, glancing down at my lap briefly. I sighed heavily and glanced up. "I… saw the news."

"Ah," He nodded swiftly after a moment. "I assume you're referring to the news of bringing the Joker into custody."

I licked my lips slightly and swallowed, biting my lower lip gently. "That's why I'm here…" I paused a moment before inhaling slowly. "I want to see him."

"You want to… _see _him?" Gordon repeated incredulously, his lips parting in astonishment and his eyes widening in surprise. "Why?"

I let out a heavy exhale of breath and shrugged lightly. "I…well..." I shrugged again, strumming my fingertips against the arm of the chair quicker. "…I know him, I think." I sighed. "I'd like to see him. See if… if it's him."

Gordon was silent briefly, my words more than likely taking a moment to register through his mind. He opened his mouth to speak, closed it and looked down, and then looked up again. "You… you _know_ him?"

I nodded. "I believe so."

"His name?"

"Yes."

"And… you know his age?"

"I do."

Gordon leaned back in his chair, a soft stream of breath exerting from his mouth. His eyes were widened slightly as they landed on me. "You're sure? You're sure you know this man? _This_ is the man?"

I licked at my dry lips again and nodded, smiling sadly. "Fairly certain, yes."

"He's dangerous…" he spoke slowly, his eyes not drifting from mine. "If I were to bring you to see him, I would have to accompany you." He paused for a moment. "And he would be behind bars."

"I understand," I nodded.

He narrowed his eyes at me slightly. "You realize…. You realize that if you know…." He trailed off a moment, his head shaking as he stared down at his papers. "…If you know him, his identity, _anything_…. That you're obligated to give us that information. "

I contemplated this for a moment. I would have to ultimately… _betray_… the man that I was in love with. All for compensation for meeting him for the presumed last time. I also knew that the city was desperate to seek the identity of the entity that was terrorizing them, and that Gordon wouldn't pass up any opportunity of uncovering the face of Gotham's most deviant criminal. I let my eyes flutter close briefly before opening them slowly. "Yes. I know." I glanced at the man sitting across from me. "I'm willing to cooperate… I just want to see him."

Gordon inhaled sharply and stood from his seat quickly, his hands clutched at his jacket tightly. He swallowed hard, his jaw clenched tightly. "Follow me."

- - - - - - -

I couldn't contain the trembling of my hands as I followed Gordon further into the station, through a long, dimly lit hallway. As he pushed through two large doors, glancing behind me with a worried expression, we had both stepped into a large room comprised of prison cells. I glanced at a long table to the right of me and saw a line of sharp objects, mainly knives, lined up and gleaming under the florescent lighting. Gordon stepped near me and touched my arm lightly.

"He's over there."

I looked up quickly, ignoring the wolf whistles reverberating throughout the dank span, and eyes locked on the figure sitting in the cell straight ahead. He was sitting on the bench with his legs sprawled in front of him, his hands resting atop his thighs. I observed the fitted violet pinstripe pants adorning the long legs, the tattered brown shoes, the emerald vest wrapped snuggly around the broad chest, the sinewy arms covered in a patterned blue shirt…

And then my eyes stopped on his face. His face was barely recognizable now, with the messy grease makeup smeared messily across his features. But somehow… somehow, I still _knew_. His moss-blonde curls hung loosely around his face. His impossibly dark eyes locked on mine from across the room, their frigidness emanating even from the distance. His full mouth, slathered in a slick red paint, was parted slightly again as his eyes darted across my face. I stepped closer, away from Gordon, my eyes never leaving his. He knew, too. Oh, yes. He knew me. He recognized me. I stopped walking and stood stiffly, swallowing hard. Our eyes remained locked on one another's, and for a moment, the relaxed position his body maintained went rigid. I stood silent, inwardly wondering if he would speak to me or acknowledge me verbally. His rigid body position almost immediately loosened, and he lazily crossed his arms across his chest.

"Pity," He finally spoke, his deep voice sending a shiver through my system. His tongue swiped at the corner of his lips and he clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, his eyes narrowing on me. "I prefer blondes."

"You _asshole_!" I exploded, lurching forward, my hands balled into fists. I felt fury and agony consume me as he regarded me so callously, so… _coldly_. His eyes darted over me briefly, observing me, before locking on my infuriated gaze once more.

"Haven't changed a _bit_, have you?" He drawled, cocking an eyebrow as his eyes scanned my chest quickly. He smirked and allowed his heavy gaze to land on my face once more, and I felt my cheeks flush, all anger draining from me and being replaced with embarrassment.

"You… you…" I swallowed thickly, struggling to find words, but couldn't tear my eyes from his hauntingly beautiful orbs, which stared cold and calculating back into mine.

He sighed heavily and rolled his eyes, licking at his lips again. "Oh, get _to_ it," He regarded me with an annoyed expression. "Y'know, for a gal who wouldn't shut _up_, you sure have issues speaking _now_."

"I can't believe it," I murmured after a moment, shaking my head lightly and ignoring his insult. "I can't believe… you… _you…_ you're…"

"I'm _what_?" He sneered "A _killer_?" He snorted, shaking his head at me, sending a few greasy curls into his forehead. "Clearly you _can._ You're _here," _He finished, motioning with a long finger to the cell he was sitting in. His eyes shifted back to mine.

"It _was_ you…" I whispered, nodding to myself. "It was you at the parade."

"You really _haven't_ changed," He snapped sarcastically, rolling his eyes and re-crossing his arms across his mockingly batted his eyelashes at me, smacking his lips together. "Was it _that_ difficult to piece together? Hmm?"

I stepped closer then, so close that I could wrap my hands around the cold iron bars separating us, and his eyes widened a fraction. I gazed at him, silently begging for him to release some compassion for me; I knew he'd had a soft spot for me since we'd met, and I wanted to bring that forth. Deciding to test the waters, I licked my lips lightly and inhaled deeply.

'Jack,' I mouthed to him. His lips parted briefly, his eyes narrowing at me for a moment, before his expression contorted into one of rage.

"What are you _doing_ here?" He demanded in a low voice, leaning forward slightly. "Here to see if maybe I've _changed_, hm? If maybe I've changed for the _better_?"

"No, I-"

"You _think_ I'll give you a break because you fed me some _fucking_ carrot sticks?" He hissed, his eyes darkening in anger. I stepped back, unwrapping my hands from the bars quickly, my heart hammering against my ribs in fear. He didn't like this. He didn't like signs of weakness. He sneered at me again, standing from his position on the bench.

I shook my head defiantly, brushing some strands out of my face. I swallowed hard and maintained my position on the floor. "I'm leaving," I murmured quietly, trembling. His eyes narrowed as I looked at him. "This was a mistake…"

He stepped forward then, and wrapped his hands around the bars, his dark orbs locked intently on mine. My mouth felt dry as he gazed at me. I knew that look; it was the same look he gave me when I'd told him about my decision to attend the prom with another boy. It was terrifying.

"Good…good-bye," I managed to stutter out, turning around swiftly. I was about to step forward when a hand stopped me, gripping me tightly on the forearm and yanking me backwards. I yelped and looked down to see his large hand wrapped around the flesh of my lower arm, his eyes swimming with malicious insanity as he stared at me. He pulled me towards the bars and used his other hand to slip through a space in the bars and grab the back of my hand. Before I knew what happened, my head was lurched forward and my mouth was crushed against something cool and wet. It happened so quickly that it barely registered in my mind that Jack had smashed his _lips_ against mine in a cruel show of affection. Officers sprinted from their positions, shouting in outrage and lurching forward to restrain the man who was gripping my forearm firmly. Before I was hauled away, he leaned in, his breath hot against the shell of my ear.

"I _will_ find you," He hissed into my ear, baring his yellowed rows of teeth in a menacing smile. "See you around." He smirked as the officers entered the cell, ripping him backwards and sending him to the concrete ground roughly, and Gordon escorted me gently away, apologizing profusely. As he led me out of the cell, I heard the maniacal cackling of the lost soul of the man I once knew, echoing loudly and haunting me for the remainder of the evening. I spent the next ten minutes scrubbing red paint off of the expanse of my lips.

- - - - - -

**AN: I was excited to write this chapter. It's long. Wow, it's long. Please give me feedback, I really need to know if this is worth continuing. I just want to put this out there - My OC's name is Katie... which is short for Katherine. Just so you guys aren't confused or anything. :]  
**


	6. Chapter Six

**AN: Update time! Three months later, wow. I'm a busy gal I guess.**

**I'm sorry if you hate this chapter. It's a filler, I guess? Next one, get ready ;]**

**Shout-out goes to HoistTheColors, who has been a great help with formulating ideas for this. She's awesome. Go read her story **_**Clockwork**_**, it's fantastic. :]**

**Another shoutout goes to DogtownVeniceBeachGirl who thought my story was SO good that she'd copy my work and publish it as her own! Apparently she had ALL of my ideas last summer, long before this was published :] Thanks so much for ripping off my work and saying it's your own, you rule.**

**You guys have been awesome (this is sincere). I never thought this would get so many reviews, and I'm so happy you enjoy it. Please PM me/review/ whatev with any suggestions or comments or whatnot. If you like this I'll try to update a LOT sooner! I have the next chapter already in my mind! :D**

**ENJOY!!**

**- - - - - - - **

**Six**

My surroundings were uncomfortable. A dark room enveloped me, aside from the flickering television screen on the wall parallel, and the air was sticky with humidity. The body pressed against mine on the couch only added to the stuffy room, and a light sheen of sweat had formed on my skin. I felt a fan of breath brushing against my forehead repeatedly, pausing every so often with the loud sound of chewing. The breath smelled of overly buttered popcorn and it repulsed me. I pushed at the figure beside me lightly, shifting awkwardly against the cushions.

"Nate, can you –" I shifted more, unfolding my legs, which were tucked under my bottom, and let them swing over the couch. "I just –" I maneuvered my body so that my back was no longer pressed against his chest. He wasn't budging. "_Nate_."

"What?" He snapped through a mouth full of popcorn. "Stop moving around so much."

I sighed, pushing my body away from his. "It's too hot to –"

"To _what_, cuddle with you?" He snorted, giving me a look. "It's _October_, Katie."

I scowled, looking over at him. His eyes were averted back on the television screen again, his hand continuously shoving popcorn into his mouth. The light from the screen flickered off his short dark hair and outlined the sharp features of his face. His lips looked thinner than usual while eating the popcorn, and I couldn't help but notice how much thinner they were than…

God, it had been three months and I _still_ thought of him. He was in Arkham now, or so I read in a newspaper awhile back. Gotham had quieted down since then, and I was content with that, convincing myself that I could forget his face, his entire being. What I wasn't content with was the fact that I had to get up each and every day with Rachel Dawes' face in my mind – engraved there, burning memories into my skull. Her death added to my personal self assurance that Jack Napier was a lost cause. What sickened me the most was that despite the fact that he'd murdered one of my best friends – bound her body to gasoline drums and left it _charred_ – I still loved him.

I felt the couch lift slightly next to me and saw Nate crossing the room, his jaw still moving rapidly with each chew of that rancid popcorn. I stirred, sitting up slightly to see him moving towards a window near the back hall.

"What are you doing?" I called out, draping an arm behind my head and sighing with relief. The air around me was finally cooler, and I could sit more comfortably. He unlatched the lock on the window and slid it open smoothly, and the curtains on either side of the glass fluttered with the frigid breeze. He nodded in a pleased manner and turned on his heel, walking back to the couch in swift strides. His mouth widened in a grin as he sank back into the cushions.

"There," He said, reaching for me. "Now the room is nice and cool."

I fidgeted while his arms looped around my torso, his breath suddenly becoming heavier against my ear, his legs entwining with mine. "Nate…" A nervous laugh escaped my mouth as I felt his lips descend on the column of my neck. "What are you doing?"

He continued pressing small kisses against my neck, and I felt his chest vibrate with something. Was it laughter? Or pleasure? I never knew with him. I never…

"What does it look like?" He murmured between hot kisses, his mouth making its way across my jaw. He paused and looked at me, his crystal green eyes locking on mine. A small smirk formed at the corner of his lips and he leaned forward, pressing them against mine briefly. He pulled away, the smirk still curving on his mouth. "I'm seducing you."

"I'm tired…" I replied hesitantly, pushing at him as he rolled me onto my back, his body lying against mine. "I-I had a long day at work…"

He chuckled, his fingers reaching under the hem of my shirt and skimming my bare stomach. I squirmed uncomfortably against him, grunting under my breath as I attempted to push him off. "Nate, really, stop –"

He sighed, leaning up on his elbows and staring down at me, his eyes eerily illuminated by the blue-ish glow of the television. "Come on," He pressed, his eyes wavering with desperation. "I even opened the window to make you more comfortable."

"Yes…" I responded slowly, holding back a roll of the eyes. "…You did, but… I'm too tired…"

"What if it's quick?" He suggested with a groan, his hand moving down to stroke at the flesh exposed of my upper thigh. His thumb rubbed there gently, trying to coax a response out of me, and I shook my head firmly.

"I'm just not…" I paused, seeing his eyes locked on my upper thigh. His fingers had ceased their movements. "…In the mood…" He didn't respond and I frowned, craning my head downward towards my leg. "What are you looking at?"

"This…" He murmured in reply, his thumb stroking a particular spot on my leg, and I leaned up to see what he was rubbing. As his thumb moved away, I saw it. The light pink mark, not more than an inch, right above my kneecap. I swallowed hard.

"Oh that," I replied lamely, my mouth feeling dry. I shrugged lightly, "It's nothing."

"When did you get it?" He questioned, glancing up at me.

"I don't know," I sighed, my eyes shifting down the scar again. "I was sixteen or so."

- - - - - - - - - - -

The memories came flooding back, rushing through my head and bringing heaviness to my chest that I longed to dispose of. I remember it being a cool October day, one very similar to this one, when the leaves had changed to their brilliant red and gold and brown hues. The sky was heavy with a thick lining of grey clouds, with a sharp and bitter wind blowing through the air. House porches had grinning jack-o-lanterns displayed near the steps or in the windows. Little paper ghosts hung from some trees, while others had bright orange lights strung through the branches. I was walking with Jack at the time, my sneakers pressing into the dead leaves with a delightful crunching noise. We were talking about Halloween, if I'd remembered correctly.

"Are you going to dress up?" I'd asked him, casting a curious glance in his direction. He was wearing an oversized light brown sweater that day, which made his dark blond curls look even lighter.

He snorted. "No."

"I might," I said, sighing heavily and kicking at a pile of leaves in my path. "My mom bought this pretty red fabric… I think it would be fun to be a devil, I could make a cape and some horns or something." A small smile formed on his mouth for a brief moment before fading. It was moments like those that I cherished, the rarities of him that I longed to see more of. We were silent for a few moments, the only sounds being that of our shoes scuffing against the cool pavement.

"Why would you dress up?" He murmured to me, his eyes staring straight forward.

"I love Halloween," I replied with a smile. I glanced at him, cocking my head slightly. "Don't you?"

His lips curved slightly. "No."

"You're no fun," I sighed, kicking at another small pile of gold-colored leaves. As I kicked at the pile, the tip of my shoe caught on something and I felt my body losing its balance before I toppled forward with a light shriek. I fell to the ground, my hands catching my weight and scraping against the rough concrete, and I felt my palms burning from the contact. I heard Jack sigh from above me, most likely in annoyance, and I peered up to see him crossing his arms across his chest loosely.

"Get up," He snapped, looking down at me for a moment before shifting his eyes ahead again. I shook my head quickly, and attempted to push my body up, but fell back on my bottom at the excruciating pain radiating through my leg. A small yelp escaped my lips and I felt my eyes closing tightly and my teeth gritting together.

"I…"

"What?" He spat quickly, and I felt his dark gaze land on me. "Just stand _up_."

"I can't!" I sputtered, my hands feeling around the area of my source of pain. My eyes shot open when my fingertips skimmed over something sharp protruding from my leg, and an audible gasp escaped my mouth. "There's something in my leg!"

I heard a low noise reverberate through Jack's chest as he strode swiftly to my side, and his scent filled my nostrils as he leaned down. His eyes were focused on my upper thigh, I realized, as his hands kept him sturdy on his own legs. He was so close… so close that I could see the light freckles sprinkled across the bridge of his nose. No, _no_, I could not – _would_ not be focusing on him while my leg was in such poor condition. His eyes roamed the area briefly before he let out a low hum.

"There's a piece of glass in it," He said finally flatly, standing to his full height. I felt my heart flutter within my chest at his remark, and looked down frantically at my leg. Sure enough, there right above my kneecap was a jagged piece of green glass. The surrounding area had a small pool of red liquid forming and I felt queasy.

"W-what?" I stuttered, a sickness settling within my abdomen. I licked at my lower lip lightly, the dryness becoming uncomfortable, and looked up to see an annoyed expression written across his handsome features. "What do we… what do we do?"

"_We_ don't do anything," He sneered, uncrossing his arms. He pointed down at me with a long finger, a scowl on his face. "_You_ need to stand up."

"There's _glass_ in my leg, Jack," I glowered at him, hissing through my teeth in pain. "I _can't_ just stand up."

"Fine," He snapped, the sneer still curling at his full mouth. He briskly turned on his heel, readjusting his backpack on his shoulder and my eyes widened in disbelief as he sauntered off in his usual lazy swagger.

"Where are you going?!" I called to him, anger leaking through the desperation in the tone of my voice. His head turned slightly, the curls fluttered around his slender face, and he licked at the corner of his mouth lightly.

"I'm not waiting around for you," He drawled, glaring at me. "Decide what you want to do."

"I _want_ to get this glass out of my leg!" I bit out angrily at him, and his eyes widened a fraction of an inch, clearly surprised at my bitter comeback. I huffed and swallowed hard, peering up at him hesitantly with softer eyes. "Could you at least help me up?"

With a few quick strides and an annoyed noise that sounded something like a grunt, his hand had seized the hood of my sweater in a firm grip and yanked upward, tugging me roughly to my feet. I let out a yelp in pain as my knee straightened, but had no choice but to follow him as he dragged me behind him, his fingers gripping the soft material of the hood in a powerful hold.

"You're hurting me," I whimpered, my hands flailing to my leg and my eyes watering from the discomfort emanating from my thigh. I tried to hop on my good leg, but failed to do so because Jack's long legs ate up more distance with each swift stride than mine.

"We're almost there," He tossed over his shoulder monotonously, and I did not know where he was talking about until I saw the swings in the near distance. Of course. The swings. I realized that the wound on my thigh was more than likely putting me into a state of shock, because momentarily I thought he would take me to his home. I nearly laughed.

As we approached the swings, I practically hurled my body onto the seat, grateful to take the burning pressure off of my leg. Jack dropped his backpack on the woodchips with a heavy thud, and kneeled in front of me, his eyes scanning the deep cut quickly.

"Are you going to take it out?" I asked sheepishly, chewing on the fleshy portion of my lower lip lightly. "Or are you going to –"

"Are you wearing socks?" He interrupted, ignoring my own inquiry. I frowned slightly, confusion more than likely apparent on my face. He sat back on his heels and sneered at me in irritation. "I need something to tie around this after I pull out the glass."

I felt my nose wrinkle and my eyebrows furrow in opposition. "What?" I shook my head quickly. "Jack, you're _not_ using my dirty sock to tie up my cut."

He glowered at me, making low noises under his breath, before standing up briskly. I frowned again. "What are you –" I paused when I saw his hands reaching for the hem of his sweater. My eyes widened when I realized what he was going to do as a substitution for a sock. "No, stop, don't –"

The sound of fabric ripping reverberated through the cool air loudly, and as he lifted the hem up, I caught a quick flash of flesh and a patch of light hair, and my heart nearly stopped upon the realization that I had just gotten a glimpse of his lower abdomen. I averted my eyes quickly, hoping he didn't notice me gawking at his stomach, and felt relief when I saw that his shirt still covered his skin, even after tearing a long strip from it.

He fell to his knees again quickly, tossing the fabric to the ground nonchalantly, and I felt my cheeks still heated from the thrilling view of his abdomen. I cleared my throat gently, looking away from him. "You didn't have to do that, you know," I said quietly.

"Do what?" He snapped, looking up at me with those brown eyes of his. "Ruin my _nice_ shirt?"

I felt a small smile tug at my lips at his sarcastic reply. Even while trying to be a complete jerk, I couldn't help the fluttering sensation in my chest. This boy was… he was…

I yelped suddenly, kicking my leg out at the feeling of the sudden sharp pain that broke my hazy thoughts. I looked down breathlessly, my eyes wide in shock. "What are you _doing_ to me?"

With one swift movement, he held up the piece of green glass between two lean fingers, twirling it lightly and smirking to himself as he observed the way the red liquid stained the edge. He tossed it to the side and reached for the strip of fabric he'd ripped off his shirt. I swallowed hard as his hands inched towards my thigh, anticipating the feeling of his fingers against my leg. That feeling did not come, though, and instead I felt the fabric tighten around the circumference of my thigh. He'd managed to tie it around my leg without touching me. The disappointment was hard to ignore as it settled within me, but I chose to ignore it.

"How do you know how to do this?" I inquired softly, watching him as he looped the ends of the fabric together to form a knot. He snorted, but didn't look up.

"I read."

My eyebrows shot up in surprise at his answer; Jack was never one for telling personal information. I felt my heart skip a beat, and leaned forward, gripping the chain on either side of me, desperate to get more from him.

"You read? What do you read?"

His eyes unmistakably rolled as he continued tying the knot, and he still did not look up at me. "I don't know. _Books_._"_

There it was. The sarcasm. Somehow his sarcastic remarks added to his appealing charm I'd fallen so hard for, and I couldn't help to crack another small smile. I was silent a moment, squinting up into the sky, enjoying the feeling of the cool breeze brushing against my cheeks. "I like to read too," I said quietly. "Mysteries are my favorite."

Jack didn't reply, as expected, but stood to his feet, brushing his hands together. His dark eyes were locked on my leg, which had part of his shirt still wrapped around it. He nodded once, licking his lower lip quickly, before leaning down to grab his backpack. "You'll need antiseptic," he mumbled under his breath, tossing me one last look before turning to walk in his usual direction. He glanced at me quickly over his shoulder. "Don't forget it."

As he walked away, I felt the smile on my lips grow. I smiled for the fact that Jack had just told me about one of his hobbies – a _hobby_ – he never spoke of his personal interests, and my heart swelled at the thought that he'd confided such a thing in me. As I leaned down, my fingers gently touched the soft brown fabric around my thigh, and I knew I would never forget.

- - - - - - - -

"Katie?"

I snapped out of it, my eyes focusing on the face above me. Nate's hand was still sprawled out against my thigh, his eyes still locked on mine with concern. I licked my lips lightly, and let out a short laugh.

"I'm sorry… what?"

He smiled crookedly and cocked his head at me. "You spaced out there a second." He looked down at my leg before locking his eyes on mine again. "I was asking how you got it."

"The scar?"

He nodded.

I looked down at the mark once more before shifting my eyes up to Nate's face. I turned and looked at the television screen, opting to forget about the marking on my thigh. I shrugged lightly, pulling at my shorts so that they covered the scar.

"I don't remember."

- - - - - -

A week later at breakfast, when I was standing at the stove scrambling Nate's usual eggs, he'd walked in, a grin set on his face. I had served him his eggs and poured him a cup of coffee before settling at the table, questioning his good mood.

"My parent's anniversary is coming up in a few weeks," He remarked, sipping at his coffee. "Thirty years together, can you believe it?"

"That's wonderful," I murmured, taking a drink from my own mug.

"They're having a party," He added, stabbing at an egg with the spokes of his fork. He brought it to his mouth and chewed quickly, his eyes twinkling in my direction. "We're both invited."

"Oh?" I took a small bite from a piece of wheat toast I'd prepared for myself. "Where's it at?"

He leaned back in his chair, sighing in content as he finished chewing his eggs. "The Drake. We're all welcome to stay in one of the rooms overnight."

I nearly choked on my toast as he told me this. "The Drake?" I repeated in a thick voice, my eyes widening in his direction. "The Drake as in…downtown?"

"Yes," He affirmed, nodding and taking another large bite of eggs.

"Nate…" I sighed, shaking my head and putting my toast down on the plate. I looked up at him with wavering eyes, silently pleading with him to reconsider. "You know I can't go into Gotham…"

His eyes immediately hardened, and he set his mug down with a sharp thud. "Katie, it's my parent's anniversary. They're _inviting_ you, their future _daughter_ in law."

"I know…" I felt my eyes flutter closed and a lump form in my throat. "It's just that… with what happened with Rachel…"

"You're telling me that you're not going to go?" He snapped suddenly, his eyebrows furrowed in growing anger. "You're not going to go to my parent's party when they're coming to our _wedding_ next spring, is that what you're telling me?"

I bit my lower lip hard. Think, think, _think!_ Jack was… he was in Arkham… he was locked up in a high security area of Arkham and had no idea that I would be in Gotham again… and Nate looked _so_ angry…

I swallowed hard, feeling my lower lip quiver. A horrible sickness swept through me at the prospect of going into that city again, but I felt obliged to as Nate's fiancée. I sighed heavily and shrugged. "I'll… I'll go. I'm sorry, I'm just… still… shaken up, I guess."

Nate smiled then, and continued drinking his coffee, his anger washing away quickly. "I understand. But believe me; you'll have a great time."

I felt numb in that moment, sitting with my future husband at the table, talking about going into the city with him where a man I was insanely in love with was locked up. I choked down my coffee and finished the last bit of toast before kissing him tightly on the lips and making my way to the bathroom for a cold shower.

- - - - - - -

**AN: like it, hate it? I'd like to know.**


	7. Chapter Seven

**Hi, guys. It's been three months, I know. I'm so sorry. I _am _alive!! : D So… here is chapter seven for you. Read it, review it, let me know what you think, because this honestly took me ages to plan. I know it's a bit long. But, yeah... Your opinions really help drive this thing.**

**Speaking of which.. **

**P.S – Check out the poll on my profile. It's a question I've often wondered myself and I'd really appreciate your input!**

**Enjoy : )**

**Disclaimer: Batman/The Joker belongs to DC Comics; the OC belongs to me.**

**Seven**

The incident happened a week after Nate's announcement of our travel plans into the city, when I was attempting to cook a pot roast for dinner out of this cookbook that we'd gotten as a Christmas gift years ago. I was basting – or whatever you call it, this big slab of meat, when I heard the door creak open. It was nearly five, just about the time that Nate shuffled into our apartment from work, and I mentally prepared myself to listen to his agonizing bickering of his hellish hour and a half commute from his office downtown.

We had planned on living in an apartment in the city when my head was still in the clouds and indulging itself in the prospect of law school, but since I became a teacher instead and the school I worked at was such a distance from Gotham, Nate had begrudgingly agreed to settle into a place closer to the suburbs. Considering his superficial friends and coworkers resided in swanky lofts high over the bustling streets downtown, I knew he was unbelievably bitter about our living situation.

Anyway, the door had creaked open slowly, an indication that he was either tired or in one of his depressive mood swings, but I continued to rub a glaze across the thin skin of the meat in front of me. I heard the familiar sound of the drop of his heavy leather – ahem, his _Italian_ leather briefcase on our hardwood floors, and the usual swishing noise of his _cashmere_ suit jacket being slid off of hung on the coat rack. There was a pause, and then he called my name out with a heavy sigh. I ceased my cooking process for a moment and glanced up when I heard his footsteps approaching, and he appeared in the doorway of the kitchen, his eyelids heavy with exhaustion. He leaned against the doorway, crossing his arms across his chest authoritatively, and stared at me expectantly.

"Do you want to tell me why there are flowers sitting outside our door?" He finally spoke, his fingers strumming along his arm in what I recognized to be annoyance.

"There are what?" I frowned slightly, setting the cooking brush I was using for the basting down on the counter.

He sighed, rolled his eyes, and nodded behind him. "Flowers. There's a bouquet of them out in the hallway."

"I don't know," I shrugged.

"You're telling me you missed them on your way in?" He snorted and shook his head. "They're pretty damn noticeable."

I sighed and picked up the tray that the roast was settled in and turned to open the oven door behind me. I slid the tray in effortlessly and glanced at the timer, turning it to the number twenty. "I don't know, Nate," I said after a moment. "They weren't out there when I came home."

"Are you… telling me the truth?" He asked, cocking an eyebrow. "Or is something else going on? Is someone sending you flowers, Katie?" I turned, a hand on my hip, and stared at him in disbelief. Was he _actually_ asking me this?

"No, I'm lying," I remarked sarcastically. "I've had a passionate love affair this entire time. He sends me flowers after our little escapades, you know. My God, you caught me."

He sighed, his body relaxing a bit, and reached up to rub at the back of his neck, his face tense with what appeared to be stress. His arm dropped heavily at his side and he glanced behind him slowly. After a moment, he stood up from his leaning position against the frame of the door and turned to walk back towards the front door, presumably to retrieve the flowers.

"It's just weird," He called from the foyer, his voice leaving a light echo through the room. "Who the hell leaves _flowers_ outside of somebody's door?"

"Is there a name attached?" I asked, setting a dirtied dish into the sink and turning the hot water on. I heard a bit of shuffling from the other room, and I knew he was crouched down, peering through the petals in an attempt to find a recipient.

"No," He responded slowly, his voice hesitant and unsure. "Oh, wait. There's a card here."

"What's it say?"

I scrubbed at the food residue on the plate in the sink before turning the water off and wiping my hands on a rough terry cloth towel strewn across the countertop next to me. Nate was silent for a moment.

"I don't know," He groaned after a moment. "I can barely decipher this chicken shit."

"Bring it here," I suggested. "Maybe I can make it out."

He appeared back in the kitchen a moment later, a small white card folded between his fingers, and stretched his arm out to give it to me. I took it from him and unfolded it, glancing at the writing inside. He was right, unfortunately. The handwriting was absolutely atrocious and nearly impossible to read. The letters were curved into one another at awful angles, and all of the lines used to construct each individual one looked nearly identical. I squinted down at the card, my brain desperately attempting to decode the lettering scribbled across the cheap paper, and after a few moments, I managed to make out the second word.

"I think the second part says 'forever'", I licked at my lower lip slightly, angling the card away from me in an attempt to read the first word.

"Forever?" Nate repeated with a mumble, his eyebrows furrowed together. "Here, give it to me, I'll look at it again."

I handed him the card and he peered down at it in the same contemplative manner that I had just moments prior, and after a few long moments, he let out a sigh. "I don't know, there's no way."

"What?"

He frowned slightly, his eyes still locked on the small paper in his hand. "Call me crazy, but I think the first word is 'friends'."

"_What_?" I hissed, reaching forward and practically ripping it from his grasp. My eyes frantically searched for the lettering of the first word, and sure enough, I could make out the usual lettering used in the word Nate had suggested. "There must be a mistake. These must be for someone else."

"Friends forever," Nate murmured, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. He glanced up at me. "Maybe one of your coworkers sent them?"

I let out a dry laugh, shaking my head, my eyes still locked in their hold on the message deciphered on the card. "No, my coworkers hate me."

"Well you know _my_ colleagues didn't send them," He sighed, his body leaning against the counter lazily. "They're not into that sentimental bullshit."

I swallowed uncomfortably, a feeling of nervousness washing through me as I glanced down at the card again. Deep within me, a feeling of familiarity began to swell, but I couldn't identify why. "W-well," I chewed on my lower lip and cleared my throat, attempting to compose myself. "Maybe they're for one of the neighbors. We should stop by after dinner."

Nate rolled his eyes, "Is it really worth it? They're not even _good_ flowers."

"What do you mean?"

A slow grin spread across his features, and he shrugged. "Let's just say they're not the expensive bouquets _I've_ gotten you in the past."

I narrowed my eyes slightly, ignoring the mental aggravation of Nate's usual cockiness involving material items. "What are they?"

"Does it matter?" He sighed.

"Why don't you just bring them in?"

He shifted back to a standing position and let out a low groan, turning on his heel to walk back into the foyer where the bouquet was set. I heard more shuffling echo through the room, and a few grunting noises escape from him. "I mean, if you're going to send flowers with a cheesy, clichéd card, at least send _nice_ ones…" He trailed off. "And whoever delivered these is a fucking _moron_."

I opened my mouth to question what he meant, but didn't have a chance to say anything, because at that moment he'd briskly walked in with the arrangement balanced between his hands. I couldn't blink as I stared at the large clump of pink petals; all tucked into one another at odd angles and delivering an off-smell that had a slight sweet deliverance. Nate dumped them, with the vase, onto the kitchen table, rolling his eyes, but I couldn't take my eyes off of them. They were wilted, I noticed, and when my eyes trailed down the long body of one in particular, my heart nearly stopped. Each slightly stale, pink rose in this less than elaborate bouquet in front of me had its stem broken in half.

* * *

After an awkward dinner, mostly on my part, of the slightly overdone roast I'd cooked, Nate and I retreated into the living room to sink into the couches with a glass of wine and watch television. We'd rarely gotten times of relaxation together like this, so it was a nice change from our usual hectic lifestyles. As I settled into the cushions with the wine glass situated between my fingers, the brief blur of pink was still noticeable out of the corner of my eye. We hadn't spoken of the broken roses since he set them down at the table, except for a few ignorant comments from him about how dry and low quality they were, but all throughout dinner I could not tear my mind away from that bouquet.

Was it a coincidence? It must have been.

Nate switched the channel to the local news, and the usual obnoxious blonde woman was perched in her seat, a grave expression written across her heavily made-up features.

"It's unknown where the suspect is headed at the moment, but all civilians in the northern region are urged to take caution…"

I squinted at the screen, sitting forward slightly, to read the headlines at the bottom. When my eyes deciphered each message, the wine I'd just sipped on nearly came back up.

"Well, shit," Nate chuckled, sipping at his own drink. "That's no good."

I couldn't move. No, no, _no._ There was _no_ way this was _happening_. He _couldn't_ have –

"I'm not surprised," I felt Nate shrug next to me, and saw his eyes were still locked lazily on the screen, seemingly unaffected. "It was only a matter of time."

"What?" I managed to speak, blinking rapidly at him in disbelief. "What are you – _what_?"

He sighed and leaned forward to set his glass on the coffee table, then sat back again, stretching his arms behind his head. "Everyone acts so surprised when shit like this happens," He paused to motion to the screen, where the face of the man who'd haunted my dreams for the past ten years was. "_That_ man is a genius. Locking him up in some asylum and expecting him to stay put for any length of time is unreasonable."

My throat felt dry. "Ar-Arkham is a stable institution, Nate," I stuttered, my voice feeling hoarse as I did so. "Security is exponentially high there."

"It doesn't matter," He remarked. "Security can't stop men like him. He's – I don't know, he's a force, I think. Isn't that what the Commissioner had said about him, too, that he's a force? Doesn't _that_ prove my point?"

"I don't remember." My head was swimming. My vision was blurred. I was going into shock, I was sure, either that or the panic attack that had taken hold of my body was astronomically larger than usual.

"Especially with the incompetent fools working at the MCU, it's not a surprise to me that their little maniac found his way out of Arkham," He leaned forward to grab his glass and take another long drink from it. "He's nearly immortal."

"You seem pretty keen on him," I snapped suddenly, scowling at him. "Speaking so highly of him, that is."

Nate laughed lightly and shook his head, "I never said he's a _good_ man. I said he's a _smart_ man." He licked at some wine that had accumulated on his lower lip before letting out a sigh. "He's got brains, but there are loose screws up there without a doubt."

"So what, do you idolize him or something?"

He let out a loud laugh. "Do I idolize an anarchist? No." He smiled at me then, a soft smile, and his green eyes gleamed in the dim glow of the tableside lamp. "I had a guy like that in my physics class my last year of college, not an anarchist wearing face paint and a purple suit, but a guy that was so _fucking_ brilliant that he intimidated _everyone_."

"Hm," I chewed on my lower lip gently, before glancing up again. "Did he intimidate you?"

"Oh, yeah," He responded with a quick nod. "Me, the girl next to me, the guy behind me. The teacher, even. This guy was so intellectually prosperous, it was almost scary. But he had some head problems, too, I think."

"What do you mean?"

"He mumbled to himself a lot. He didn't socialize, ever." Nate's eyes rolled upward in a motion of contemplation. "He didn't really care about his appearance, either. Wore ragged clothes, and his hair was pretty wild."

The familiar lump in my throat formed and my pulse increased. Could it be that – no, I was thinking irrationally again. But the similarities were so apparent…

"Do you remember his name?" I couldn't stop the words from escaping my mouth.

Nate smirked. "Louis Grant."

I sighed a breath of relief when the words I thought I'd hear didn't come. I shifted uncomfortably on the couch as my eyes averted to the news screen again.

"So, um…" I cleared my throat lightly. "What happened to him?"

"He made it big for awhile. I think he was a chemical engineer for Dow," Nate murmured in reply, his eyes directed on the television screen. "But the last I heard he off-ed himself."

My eyes widened slightly. "He – he _killed_ himself?"

Nate nodded slowly. "That's the thing about that type of man – the brilliant one, I mean. They're like a loose top. The pressure builds up and something in them snaps. They either end their own life or do what this psychopath is doing."

I couldn't bring myself to look at the screen. They'd posted a picture of him right on there, his makeup smeared across his face so messily and his hair looking so dirty and that malicious gleam he was notorious for in his pitted black eyes. No, I had to turn my head slightly and focus my vision on my full glass of wine sitting on the coffee table. I heard Nate sigh heavily.

"Almost makes you wonder what he was like as a kid, you know?"

"Reclusive and brilliant. He loved to read."

My hand nearly flew up to cover the massive _hole_ in my face I considered to be my mouth.

Oh _shit_.

Nate stared at me, his mouth gaping, his eyebrows furrowed together in apparent confusion and surprise. Why the hell couldn't I keep my huge mouth shut?

"I, uh, um – " Nate frowned slightly, cleared his throat, and let out an uncomfortable laugh. "Something you'd like to tell me, Katie?"

"What? N-no," I shook my head furiously, attempting to force a light laugh. "No, no. I was just assuming, that's all. I was going off of what you were saying about that man."

Nate smirked at me. "Uh-huh. Sure." He glanced at the television before averting his eyes playfully in my direction. "Maybe you're keeping something from me…" He clicked his tongue lightly against the roof of his mouth, narrowing his eyes at me, the smile still evident on his mouth. He leaned closer, "Is my fiancée the secret childhood lover of Gotham's most notorious madman?"

_You're not far off_, I wanted to say. I was surprised I could even think at this point. The nausea in my stomach was churning and making the lump in my throat feel worse.

"Don't be silly, Nate," I let out a quick, dry laugh, my eyes nervously shifting back to the news channel. I swallowed hard as my eyes scanned the headlines briefly once more, my insides pleading with me that it was all a joke. That the bombshell with the heavy eye makeup and the blindingly white teeth would all of a sudden throw her papers down and proclaim that it was a huge joke and that the Joker was actually still under heavy surveillance in a padded room.

That moment didn't come.

So he'd escaped. And he was running rampant somewhere, the direction unknown. And so I'd received a large bouquet of pink roses, broken in half. Coincidences existed. The human mind could make one believe anything it wanted, if the circumstances were right. It could have been anything. Wrong apartment, maybe. Maybe it was one of the immature, snarky women that worked with me, sending me the flowers as a joke of the friendship that would never be between us. Besides, he didn't know where I lived. I swallowed hard and glanced at the flowers on the counter. Wilting, pink, beautifully broken. God help me.

- - - - - - - - - -

There was only so much you could do on a weekday when you were home. I wish Nate understood that instead of sulked like a child when he found out I had conferences and therefore was only at work until ten. I had suggested of making it up to him by making him some pasta primavera for lunch, and that he could come home for his two hour break instead of taking a bag with him. He'd begrudgingly agreed, shuffling out the door with his sleek coffee canister in one hand and that damn expensive briefcase in the other. I'd left twenty minutes later, gotten through absolute hellish conferences, and came home early.

It wasn't that great. You could clean, which I did. I cleaned the entire kitchen – scrubbed the counters down and made sure all the dishes were washed and put away. Others usually cooked, which I also did. Nate's pasta dish wasn't difficult to make and I had something edible slapped together within half an hour, and that was wrapped tightly in plastic wrap and stored next to the milk in the fridge. Eating was also an option – sadly I also partook in this, and snacked on one of my favorite guilty pleasures – a few pieces of white bread slathered in thick honey. I ate them while watching a couple of trashy daytime television talk shows and angst-ridden soap operas. Other than that, there was not much to do at home when not working; I needed, _craved _to be productive.

I found myself at some point yawning excessively, and opted to lay down for a short nap. I have no idea what compelled me to do so, because after I followed through and slept for a good three hours, I woke up feeling groggy and disoriented. I stumbled into the bathroom to splash some cool water on my face in attempt to shake me from my mood. When I entered the bathroom and flipped the switch on, the first thing I noticed was that the toilet seat was up, a major indication that Nate had been home. I always told him to leave the seat _down_ after he used it, but being a typical male, he never listened.

After I splashed the water against my face in an attempt to refresh myself and slammed the toilet seat down in undeniable annoyance, I made my way out to the kitchen, and saw the pasta dish I made was set out. I peeled back a portion of the plastic wrap and saw that only a small portion was taken out, and that was odd to me. Regardless if the dish was even good, Nate always took huge portions and wolfed them down in record time. Sighing, I glanced behind me and saw his plate, half-eaten, still set at the table. Opening the fridge, I folded the plastic wrap over the container and slid it back in, feeling slightly uneasy about the small, uneaten portion left out.

I stretched, sighing slightly in content as a few joints popped with the motion. I didn't know what to do now. Nate had been home, presumably within the last hour, had eaten a few bites of my pasta dish, left the toilet seat up, and retreated back to his office. I was alone. I had absolutely nothing to do. As I made my way towards the living room, our answering machine caught my eye; the button on it was blinking rapidly in a red color, alerting me that we had a new message. I pressed the button and listened intently.

"Hey, babe, it's me." I rolled my eyes at the sound of Nate's gruff voice. "The guys invited me to that new sports bar on Cicero – Gino's. Looks fucking _awesome_. They have these endless wings and this imported beer – "

"Get on with it," I sighed heavily, leaning against the counter easily.

"- Anyway, uh, I'm just letting you know that I won't be home for lunch today."

My heart nearly stopped.

_What?_

"If you already made that pasta thing, keep it anyway cause I'll probably just have some later on tonight. I gotta go though, I'll see you after work. Love you!"

_End of new messages_.

I stood frozen, unsure of what to do or think. Did… did _I_ get up during my nap and sleepwalk to the kitchen and eat or something? It would explain why such a small portion was eaten – pasta wasn't one of my favorites. The thought perplexed me, though, because I had never in my life slept-walked or done anything of that nature. An unsettling feeling began to brew deep within me again and I made slow steps to the kitchen, hoping to find any other clues that I'd been shuffling around the house in a dazed slumber.

My breath caught in my chest as I re-entered the kitchen area. I froze. I wasn't breathing, I wasn't thinking, I was surprised I wasn't collapsing to the ground in a frenzy at this very moment. Because as I stood there in the kitchen and my eyes scanned the vicinity, there on the counter top was the container of pasta, the plastic wrap pulled back again.

Someone was in the apartment.

Someone was here.

Panic washed through me in an incredible wave, and my reflexes screamed at me to fucking run. To get the hell out of this apartment as quickly as possible. I turned sharply in the direction of the foyer, ready to run out of the apartment into a safe haven, but stopped abruptly when I made a sharp turn out of the kitchen.

There, in the hallway, leaning against the wall lazily and clad in a rumpled navy suit was the man I'd come to loathe and lust for. A slow, vicious smile spread across his paint-ridden features, his black eyes glittering maliciously on me. He licked at his full lower lip slightly, crossing his arms across his chest.

"Honey, I'm _home_."

* * *

**Whoa, whoa, whoa. Didn't see _that_ coming, did you? Haha. This chapter was so effing long and took me SO LONG to write, you have NO IDEA! I hope the build-up of tension in this was decent enough.**

** Now, here's the thing. This chapter is a deal breaker. If you guys aren't into it, I'm ending this little charade I like to call a story. So please provide input. Reviews make my world go rounddd….**

**Thanks so much for reading! I'll update depending on how much you guys liked this chapter.**


	8. Chapter Eight

**This is going to be so long. I had to actually separate this into two parts, so the second half is already written and I'll post it as chapter nine if feedback is good.**

**I hope you guys like this and I apologize for the long wait.**

**epic**

_I'm going to die._

The thought ran through my head rapidly as my heart hammered in my constricted ribcage and I inhaled short little gasps, struggling to breathe. I knew that it would be the end, especially after I'd made the foolish decision to dart for the front door of the apartment in a desperate attempt to distance myself from the man lurking in the hallway. I'd nearly made it out too, but the swift and heavy footsteps that echoed behind me and vibrated the heavy oak panels of the floor caught up immediately.

_I'm going to die._

A firm pressure was digging into the back of my skull, causing a sharp, throbbing pain to spread through my head. But the pain of that abrasive pressure was no match to the sickening feeling that settled in my stomach once I realized that the throbbing sensation was from a gun. The layer of thick bone that separated the head of his glock from my brain would be easily shattered with one pull, and as I stood at the door, my hand frozen on the handle, I knew that my life would end at a short twenty-seven years.

"Mm, you've disappointed me," His low murmur was quiet and unexpected from behind me. "Running off from a guest… is that how a hostess is supposed to behave?"

I licked my lips carefully, my eyes fluttering closed. "I-if you shoot me, my neighbors will hear." My voice wavered. "They'll call the police."

Within moments, a sharp pain exploded from behind my eye sockets and I felt the handle of the door dig into the small of my back. Groaning under my breath and blinking rapidly, spots darting across my vision, I realized that he'd spun me around and slammed my body into the door. After I regained some of my eyesight, his face came into view, smeared with fresh, messy paint and staring directly into mine.

"_Well_ then," His yellowed teeth gleamed at me as he spoke, and his gun was suddenly in my eye line. He glanced down at it and then shook it in my direction lightly. There was a dark barrel hugging the head of the pistol. "It's a good thing I have _this_, isn't it? Do you know what it is? No, _no_, of course you don't. I'll _tell _you what this is, are you listening?"

One gloved hand was enclosed tightly around the column of my throat, its cool latex sliding smoothly against the skin there. But I managed to swallow against his grip and nod, my breathing labored in my chest. He made a small sound of what seemed to be approval and nodded, sending some of the stringy dark blonde-green curls into his face. His eyes were viciously black as they stared into mine, and even with the gun so close to my countenance, I couldn't tear my eyes from his.

"_This_," He shook the gun again, his gaze maintaining its position with mine, "Is a suppressor. _This_ does exactly what its name _says_- " He drawled, pausing to look at it. "It _suppresses _sound. So there's no need to fuss over some nosy neighbors."

I swallowed again, a dry lump formed painfully in my throat. My eyes stayed locked on his and inhaled shakily, a whiff of his latex glove making its way into my nose. "Y-you wouldn't," I said carefully, quietly. "You… you c-couldn't."

"No?" He cooed mockingly at me, cocking his head slightly. Without a further word, the gun was pressed against my mouth, mashing my lips against my teeth painfully and sending panic rippling through my body. I gasped, the noise muffled and low against the heavy pressure of the gun, and he smiled. A clicking sound followed – the safety was off. He cocked his head, his full lips parting slightly. "Try me."

My life was suddenly flashing before my eyes – everyone moment, every memory clouding my vision in a mess of thoughts, and I was sure that within moments I'd be gone. A quick pull of his trigger and my innards would stain the wall. A quick jolt of pain and I'd fall limp to the floor, my body leaking blood into the cracks of the oak panels for hours until Nate would stumble home, drunk from his escapades at the bar. I closed my eyes and waited.

And waited.

Silence.

A heavy sigh – it was his. "I don't have _time _for this nonsense," He snapped, and I opened my eyes tentatively. "We're going to make a trip to the kitchen because _I_ haven't had a decent meal in _three_ months."

I opened my mouth slowly, my hands trembling in their grip on his wrist, but closed my lips and merely nodded. "O-okay."

He nodded curtly, wrenching my body from its position against the wall and releasing his grip from my neck. I let out a heavy exhale, swallowing against the soreness of my throat and feeling relieved that the pressure from his hand had subsided. Within moments, however, the pain was refocused on another area – the _back_ of my neck. His hand was there then, gripping just as tightly, and he pushed forward with an abrasive motion. "C'mon, c'mon, _walk_."

I obeyed quietly, trying to ignore the pain in my neck as I walked with careful steps through the hall and into the kitchen. His heavy, sporadic footsteps echoed from behind me, and the soft humming noises escaping his mouth caused the sickness in my stomach to worsen. When we arrived in the kitchen, he roughly shoved my body into one of the chairs situated at the table and sauntered to the other side, taking a seat across from me.

His body looked nearly the same as it had years ago. Older, yes - but his lithe limbs still exhibited an eerie elegance that moved in disturbing fluidity. I felt horrified that even in the situation I was in, sitting a prisoner at my kitchen table with an escaped lunatic; I was noticing details regarding his physical appearance.

But _God_ that rumpled navy suit fit him _so_ well in areas I shouldn't have even been looking at, and those thoughts alone were sure to condemn me to burn in Hell. He sat back in his chair, his arms crossed loosely against his chest and stared at me under dark, hooded eyes. His tongue darted out to swipe across his red-slicked lower lip.

"Admiring my garb?" He drawled, breaking my thoughts. He glanced down at his arms and frowned slightly, "It's a tad _big_, but it certainly looks better on _me_ than on the guy I borrowed it from."

I let my gaze drop to the surface of my kitchen table, my hands trembling in my lap. "By…by borrow you… you mean k-kill."

"No," He snapped, scowling at me in annoyance. "By _borrow…" _He spoke slowly, scowling at me. "I mean _borrow_."

I let out a short, nervous laugh, avoiding his gaze. "I find it hard to believe that someone lent you their suit."

"He was surprisingly compliant," He replied with a shrug. "I only had to slice off one ear for him to give it to me." I choked, feeling the need to regurgitate, and he stood up swiftly with a sigh, brushing his hands on top of his thighs and stretching lightly. "Now, now, _now_ then. I am _starved_…" He paused, striding over to the counter where the open container of pasta sat. "…Care to tell me what the _fuck_ this is?"

I felt numb, staring blankly at the container. "Pasta," I replied quietly. "It's pasta."

"_This_ is _pasta_?" He snorted, glancing down at the cold noodles. "The _slop_ I choked down the past few months is better than this shit." He sighed, pushing the pasta away roughly. "I was expecting something a bit more… _promising_… than this."

"I didn't know you were coming," I said quietly, my eyes focused downward again, my chest tight with every shallow breath I took.

"You got my memo," He snapped, nodding towards the vase of broken pink roses situated on the adjacent counter. A sneer crossed his young features. "Did you like the personal touch I added? I thought you'd appreciate it."

"Ho…how…" I found my voice rough, hoarse, and coming out in a near-whisper. I cleared my throat, swallowing against that still-present lump. "How did you find me?"

"So!" He clapped his hands together, the material of the gloves squeaking lightly from the friction. "I'm clearly not going to eat _that_ – " he paused, nodding at the abandoned noodles. "What _can_ I eat?"

"An…answer me…"

"A sandwich, perhaps?" He made a face and shook his head immediately, "Nah, I'm in the mood for something a bit more _ela_borate."

My voice wavered. "Tell m-me how –"

He opened the fridge, ignoring my question, and hummed to himself as he looked inside. "Oh!" He said after a moment. "Is this a _pot_ roast? Oh, _my_, my, _my_. _Now_ we're talkin'."

"Jack-"

The name escaped my lips before I could stop it and I froze, a quiet gasp swallowed by my lips promptly clamping together. His shoulders went rigid, his body straightened, and I knew I made a mistake addressing him by his legal name. In one, swift motion, he turned rapidly, his hands slamming down on the table. I jumped and leaned back as he loomed over me, his shoulders hunched as his body crouched over me like some sort of dark predator, ready to attack and rip me to pieces.

"_Don't_," He hissed, baring rows of stained teeth. I swallowed another gasp as the sight of his gun made its way to my vision once more, the sleek barrel pointed directly against my temple. I winced as he pressed it hard into the sensitive area. "Don't _test_ me, are you _that_ fucking _dense_?"

"I…I didn't… I didn't mean to…" I felt my hands shaking harder in my lap. I struggled to even my breathing, but felt like I couldn't take a decent inhale of air. "It slipped."

"Any more _slips_ – " He growled, nudging the gun into my head harder. "And _I'll_ slip."

"O-okay," I responded quickly, quietly, my eyes still closed. "…Okay."

The pressure subsided and he stepped away, observing me for a moment before turning back towards the fridge, opening it. He pulled out the plate with the roast and kicked the door closed, sliding the plate onto the table and sitting down in front of it. He ripped the plastic wrap off of the roast, licking at his lips.

I stared at the plate of food, feeling uneasy. "I…I just wanted to know how you got here."

"The door," He replied dryly, shoving another strip of meat into his mouth and chewing quickly. He smacked loudly, obscenely. "You _obviously_ didn't take any cooking courses. This, uh, this _roast_ – " He paused, swallowing and nodding down at the plate, "It's atrocious. Don't you have any _pizza_ or something?"

"No," I replied quietly.

"Damn," He sighed, sitting back in his chair, "Pizza is my _fav_orite, so cheap and easily accessible."

I fidgeted in my seat, my legs quivering in their stiff positions under the table, and I willed myself to steady my breathing. I had to be careful with how I spoke to him and with _what_ I said to him because he was so clearly unstable that any mess up would risk my ability to live through the night. I needed to know, though, so I pressed on.

"I live twenty miles outside of the city," I said to him, meeting his heavy gaze hesitantly. "I just don't.. don't know how you could – "

"_Find_ you?" He interrupted, rolling his eyes. "You act like it's an impossible feat or something. It's not, I'm good with direction. Besides, you made it easy - " He paused, fishing into his coat pocket and pulling out a slip of white paper. He tossed it onto the table and sneered at me. "With the trail of _bread crumbs_ you left behind."

I blinked at the paper, confusion washing through me. "What is...what is this?"

"_Staring_ at it isn't going to accomplish anything," he snapped, irritation evident in the tone of his voice. "Open it."

With a trembling hand, I reached forward and grasped the paper between two fingers, bringing it towards me and unfolding it carefully. It was wrinkled, slightly torn, but when I caught sight of the handwriting scribbled on it, my blood ran cold. It was my handwriting, slightly messy and uneven across the parchment. My name, address and phone number were in my sight – I'd left it with Gordon months ago when I'd made the trip to the MCU. It was an attempt to keep in contact with him if he needed to speak with me.

"How did you get this?" I whispered, my eyes locked on the messy lettering I recognized as my own.

"Gordon should _really_ consider developing some sort of filing system," He drawled, leaning forward. "Especially when a guy like _me_ is wandering around." His jaw set tight and his eyes darkened slightly. "Imagine my surprise when I saw that it was _you_ who'd rat me out."

He was angry, I knew. He thought I was going to betray him, it was undeniably apparent in the way his dark gazed challenged mine, the way his lean body leaned so stiffly against the table. I cleared my throat gently and shook my head, pushing the paper away.

"I didn't tell him," I said quietly, willing myself to maintain our heavy eye lock. "He… he wanted me to tell him, but after… after I saw you, I couldn't."

"Of course you didn't tell him," He snapped. "If you _had_ told him, I wouldn't have had those psychiatric _morons_ fumbling with who I am for three months." A slight smirk tugged at the corner of his full lips, his eyes gleaming at me. "It's a shame, you know. With your _brill_iant observation skills, you might have made a decent attorney."

I froze, my eyes widening slightly. "Ho…how did you…"

"Oh, _please_," He groaned, rolling his eyes. "I _knew_ you weren't going to be a lawyer from the moment you told me. And coming _here_ reaffirmed that. Gotham attorneys don't live twenty miles out of the city's jurisdiction… they don't eat leftover _pot roast_ for dinner…" He paused, his eyes flitting down my body for a moment. "And they certainly don't answer the door wearing _that_."

I subconsciously grasped the edges of my thin robe, pulling it tighter to my body as I felt my cheeks flush, and he scoffed. "Don't _flatter_ yourself. You should know me better than that." He let out a heavy sigh, his dark eyes meeting mine again. "The challenge is figuring out what it is you do… see, it's something _safe_, something comfortable. A realtor, perhaps? Nah, you're too mousy for that." He licked at his lips, humming under his breath as he continued to study me. "A psychologist is too out of your comfort zone. You can't deal with your _own_ problems, let alone others."

"I'm a teacher," I interrupted softly, breaking our eye contact.

"Aw, come on!" He sighed. "Ruining my fun like that! I was enjoying my little guessing game… but a teacher, huh? I'd have guessed that eventually. It's so… pre-_dict_-able."

"Predictable?" I repeated, shifting in my seat uncomfortably.

"You were never cut out to be a lawyer," He shook his head. "I knew that, I _knew_ it."

"How?"

"For the same reason that _fool_ that failed your pre-algebra class wasn't going to be a doctor."

I swallowed lightly, the dry lump still present but not as painfully evident in the sensitive column of my throat. "Do you think I'm stupid?"

"Stupid? No," He shook his head rapidly. "No, _no_, it's just… you don't have the _skills_ a lawyer needs to survive. They're sharks. _You_…" He paused, licking at his lip. "…Are not."

"You could have been anything you wanted," I said quietly. "A chemical engineer, an accountant…you were… you were brilliant."

He shrugged, his broad shoulders straining against the tight material of the suit with the movement. "I'm _kind_ of a chemical engineer, if you think about it. And an _accountant_?" He asked with a scoff, "Can you imagine me being cooped in an _office_ all day? No. _No_, no, no." He sighed, grinning slightly. "Besides, they're much more fun to kill."

I needed to get out of here.

"I have to go to the bathroom."

I spoke it quickly, almost under my breath, my eyes avoiding his entirely. The idea had been swimming in my head since he'd shoved me into this kitchen chair – the window in the bathroom was large enough for me to fit through, and only two stories up. I would probably break my leg or my ankle from the fall, but limping on a broken bone to a safe haven would surpass the situation I was in now by far.

Jack stared at me, his features almost distinguishable under the mask of heavy, messy paint. "Why should I trust you?" He murmured, cocking his head. "Hm? Why should I let you?"

"I have…to go," I said softly, firmly, my eyes shifting up to his tentatively. "I would have tried something already."

I was lying to him. God, help me, _please_ don't let him realize this. He could always identify when I was lying, but I hoped that the fear that wavered in my eyes would mask the uncertainty that was almost always an indicator of a lie.

He stared at me quietly before exhaling heavily, rolling his eyes. He waved me off with one gloved hand. "Fine," He snapped, his features twisted in annoyance. "But if you're in there longer than two minutes, I'm coming." He nodded down at the gun on the table. "And I'm not coming _alone_."

I nodded quickly, fear bubbling through me, and stood stiffly from my position in the chair. My legs felt jelly-like; numb from their position for so long, and I rubbed at them in an attempt to bring sensation back to the joints. I walked shakily towards the hall, completely flabbergasted that he'd even allowed me to make the trip to the bathroom. But I knew, deep down, that he allowed it for the sole reason that it was _me _and it was _him_ and whether or not he wanted to admit it, we had _something_ and I was _something _to him.

I walked into the bedroom quietly, opening the bathroom door with a shaky hand and closing it behind me. I stared down at the handle. Should I lock it? No, that would make things too obvious. I'd have to be swift in my decision to get out. I walked to the window, pushing the light curtains aside and unhooking the locks from either side. It was a large window for a bathroom, which I was grateful for, so when I slid it up from its position I could see clearly down onto the quiet street below.

I felt nervous. Panicked, almost, staring down at the street. It was a long fall – I would surely break something. But I needed to get out. I'd have to limp to a neighbor, call the police and then contact Nate to tell him to stay at the bar as long as possible. I'd have to betray Jack if I did this.

There was no turning back.

I swallowed hard, inhaling shakily, and slowly climbed up onto the edge, my robe fluttering in the light, frigid breeze. I could _hear_ my blood pumping through my veins – it echoed through my head and matched the steady hammering of my heart in the confines of my ribcage, but I knew that this had to be done.

But I was so _afraid_. It was going to hurt, I knew that. It was risky, this was a certainty.

_Jump_, my voice screamed in my head. _Get the hell out of here_.

I slid closer onto the edge, willing myself not to look down at the cold pavement below. I could hear nothing at this point – the thundering rhythm of my heartbeat in my head reverberated so loud that the sound of the occasional car in the distance sounded muffled. I also could not hear the bathroom door creak open at that moment, or the heavy footsteps that matched, but the light being flicked on above me caused my head to turn and I saw him standing there.

"I thought you fell in…" His sentence was cut off as he stared at me, confusion reflecting in his near-onyx eyes and then transitioning to undeniable rage. I scrambled desperately in an attempt to jump, I _had to_ now, but he was too quick. His long legs ate up the short distance and I felt his tight grip on my ankle, causing me to cry out and struggle to make my way down below. He wrenched me from the windowsill, dragging me off, my head smacking against the top of the open window roughly.

I found myself being flung against the wall next to the sink, an inconceivable pain rippling through my spine and tiny black dots spotting my vision once more.

_I'm going to die._

His face came into view, his chest heaving with steady pants. His hand was at my throat again, enclosed around the already sore area even tighter than when he'd assaulted me in the foyer, and his eyes were wild – terrifyingly black with anger, as he stared at me.

"Ohh, how _foolish _you are_,_" He hissed, his rancid breath fanning across my face. "Maybe I was wrong, hm? Maybe you _have _changed because this is the _third_ time you've tested me, pumpkin, and I'm getting tired of these little _charades_."

I swallowed hard, whimpering against the pressure, my body squirming against the wall. But even as I struggled to breathe under his grip, the observation that his body was nowhere _near_ mine crossed my thoughts. Even his hand, which was enclosed so tightly around my throat, still was cased in its protective latex glove. I let out a tiny sound. It was a laugh, and it wouldn't have been noticeable if it wasn't for the smile that I couldn't help but allow to cross my mouth.

His eyebrows furrowed together in confusion, his black eyes darting across my face in an attempt to read me. "Is something funny?" He hissed, exposing yellowed teeth. "Hmm? Is something about this _amusing_ to you?" He released some of the pressure, presumably to let me talk, and I nodded quickly.

"Yes," I wheezed, blinking rapidly against the tears lining my eyes from the excruciating pressure. "Yes…" I paused to lick my lips, my eyes locking on his. "It's funny… tha…that after ten years…. You _still _can't touch me."

His eyes widened a fraction of an inch, his mouth slackening, and he was silent for a moment. That didn't last long, though, and within seconds his body was pressed against mine, its firmness crushing me against the cool wall roughly.

"Is _this_ close enough?" He hissed, bringing his other arm up to press against my ribcage, successfully hindering my breathing. "Is it? Am I _touching_ you now?" He was panting like a mad dog furiously, and I felt the lean muscles of his thighs press against mine as he shifted to press harder. "Do you know what _I _find funny?" His eyes stayed on mine. "I find it _hi_-lar_-ious_ that after _ten_ years you're still _alone_ – " He paused, nodding frantically, "Yes, _yes_, even after all these _years _you _still_ depend on me…you _still_ come crawling ba-"

His words were cut off immediately and fear rippled through me as his eyes narrowed at me because I knew that he was reading me as he always had and I knew that my face was telling him something that he didn't know.

And my face _was_ telling him something he didn't know because at that moment, the vision of sharp green eyes and short dark hair was running through my head and he had no _clue_ about him.

Nate.

There was a silence that settled between us.

He did not know about Nate.

He licked his lips carefully, shaking his head. "You're better off telling me now," He murmured, his voice much lower and softer than before. "I'm going to find out anyway."

And suddenly I wasn't in my bathroom with Jack anymore as a grown woman. I wasn't pinned under the pressure of his body, silently praying to God that it wouldn't be painful when he ended my life. I was suddenly seventeen years old again, sitting stiffly on the swings with Jack, desperately hoping that he wouldn't find that pink rose given to me for prom in my backpack.

But he'd found it.

As I shifted helplessly under the heavy weight of his body there on the wall, my left hand reached up in an attempt to relieve some of the pressure around my neck, and his eyes clouded over with a darkness I hadn't seen since I'd found out he'd murdered my prom date. I opened my mouth to speak, but his eyes, clouded with some sort of horrifying rage, weren't locked on mine anymore. I followed their path down to where my hand was situated – on his wrist, and suddenly it dawned on me. The violent gleam of his eye matched the object his gaze was locked on – my engagement ring.

**Long, long, long. Hope you guys enjoyed. Like I said, I already have the other part of this written, so I can post it whenever. Please review. Thank you!**


	9. Chapter Nine

**AN: I know I held you guys up. And I'm sorry, I really am. I've been busy with college and personal problems and this and that and blahblahblah. But I really don't appreciate some of the rude and immature reviews left. Boycott? Really? Whatevs.**

**To all of you who responded with consideration and sympathy, I thank you, and this is dedicated to you.**

Nine

My mind screamed at my mouth to keep itself shut but word vomit was threatening to project from it. Because as we stood there in silence, his body pressed so intimately against mine, contradicting the rough position of his hand on my throat, his face had changed. No longer did I see the sadistic and maniacal expression that he usually wore under the thick layer of paint – I saw an expression I had seen maybe once or twice since knowing him. As he stood there, his eyes blackened with rage and locked on the simple ring wrapped delicately around my finger, I saw vulnerability.

"It must be awful…" I panted softly, swallowing against the weakening pressure of his hand on my neck. "Finding out the… the one person you were sure would be alone… has someone."

He didn't speak and I knew that in itself was a deadly indicator of the damage I'd just done.

_You fucking idiot_, my thoughts screamed. _He has a gun. He will kill you._

But I couldn't stop.

I was a woman becoming intoxicated on that _look_ on his _face _– it was _weakness _and out of character for him and I craved to see more of it. So my big mouth opened itself again when he didn't respond.

"You're…. you're alone – " I said quietly. "You don't even have me anymore, _Jack_."

That was that.

Snapped strings.

His gaze was no longer locked on the ring, it had lifted itself slowly to mine, and I had never seen him look so murderous. I didn't have much time to soak in that horrifying gaze because within seconds my head was being slammed back against the wall, spots again dotting my vision. I groaned quietly, blinking rapidly in a desperate attempt to regain focus.

I was fucked.

I was also being _hauled_, rather violently, from my position against the wall and into the bedroom. His hand had seized a vice grip on a large portion of my hair and my scalp was burning – I thought he was ripping my locks from my skull, strand by strand. For a moment I felt my feet being lifted from the floor beneath me and shock rushed freely through my veins. He'd used _one hand_ to haul my body upwards, his strength a reminder of how deadly angering him could be.

And I'd angered him.

I'd angered him more than I'd ever done before. I'd reminded him of his isolation, his rejected status from the society he thrived to disrupt. I'd reminded him that one of the only people he'd had even a _semi_ normal relationship with had moved on.

I'd called him Jack.

My body was flown onto my mattress, bouncing slightly from the impact, and his followed immediately, and the sheer size of him – all one hundred and eighty something pounds, suddenly frightened me to a point of physical sickness. He crawled over me, his lips curled back into a sneer, his teeth bared and his breathing coming out in short, frantic pants. His body was directly over mine then, each long leg of his thrown over either side of my hips, his arms propping themselves over me on the mattress.

Panic flew through me.

"Don't…" I gasped, frantically scrambling to pull my robe closer to my frame. "P-please…"

I was no longer the strong woman with a voice I'd been minutes prior. I was pathetic, trembling uncontrollably under the sheer weight of an enraged lunatic.

"What did you just say?" He hissed, his face a mere inches from mine. "Did you just… did you just _beg_?" He shifted slightly on top of me, his limp, mossy curls falling into his face. "No, no, _no_."

I couldn't stop quivering below him, my eyes wide in terror as I stared helplessly into his face. What had I done?

"Don't you _dare_," He growled, leaning down slightly. "Don't you dare fucking _beg_, not _you_."

"Oh, God, oh _god_…" I was whispering to myself, mumbling frantically under my breath, my head lolling back and forth against the pillow and still throbbing terribly from the crack it experienced against the hard wall of my bathroom.

The feeling of cool, smooth leather against my face was noticeable for a split instant.

More spots flooded my vision.

I tasted copper in my mouth.

He'd slapped me.

I groaned, swallowing thickly and feeling warm liquid dribble down my throat.

"I can… I can tolerate begging," He panted heavily. "..To an extent… but… but _praying_?" He licked at his lips obscenely, shook his mossy curls. "No, _no_, that's where I draw the line. Listen up and keep your _fucking_ _mouth _shut or I'll hit you much harder. Do you understand?"

I manage to nod, my eyelids fluttering against the thin, warm liquid lining the edges of my eyeballs.

"Good, good, _good_…." He was mumbling frantically, and the thought of _what have I done_ kept racing through my head. "Now… I… I come twenty two miles to see you… I… I come _hungry_, positively _ravenous_, and find no decent meal cooked for me…. And… and then you try to _leave_, you try to cop out…" He seethed, staring into my eyes. "…And then I find out.. you've been _hiding_ a _secret_ from me…" He paused, humming under his breath. "Secrets, secrets are no fun… secrets, secrets hurt someone…"

He'd lost it completely.

He was humming, singing above me, his head softly rocking to the rhythm of his own noises.

He stopped abruptly, staring down at me, his irises nearly black once more. "Is this where it happens?"

"Wh-what?" I stuttered, shaking my head, staring up at him through leaky eyes. "Where… where what happens?"

"Is this where he does it?" He cooed softly at me.

"I don't… I don't know what…"

"Is this where he _fucks_ you?" He said gently, a subtle smile gracing his lips. "Is it?"

I blinked, horrified at him. "Wha –"

His face looked so calm in that moment, but the serenity only lasted a moment because then an expression overtook his features – an expression that frightened me horribly. His nostrils flared, his eyes darkened to a sickening black color, and he leaned even closer, the corners of his mouth downturned in an obvious frown.

"Is this where _he_ fucks you?" He roared then, causing me to jump. His face read an emotion of pure rage and I wasn't sure how much longer I had. "Right _here_? Do you _squirm_ under him while he's _inside _of you? Hm? Do you?" He paused, glancing down at my body beneath his, and reached with one hand to grab my hip viciously. Panting, he leered at me, "Does he touch you _here_?"

I inhaled shakily, tears threatening to leak from the corners of my eyes. "Stop…" I protested weakly. "D-don't…"

His hand was still for a moment, his breathing panting in heavy, erratic waves against my neck. He licked his lower lip, glanced down at his hand, and then ran it down from my hip to my thigh with an almost taunting gentleness. I felt my breath hitch in my chest as his hand continued its path down my thigh, because even through the material of the thin pajamas, I could feel that warm familiarity that came with his touch. I hadn't been touched by in gently in years – and the only time he _had_ touched me with such lightness was immediately after the awful prom night I'd experienced.

Without warning, his hand slid to the side of my thigh and grabbed it roughly, hoisting it up rapidly and bringing it onto one side of his hip. I gasped out loud, my eyes widening at the sudden movement he'd made – at the feeling of his hip pressed against the inside of my leg. He was between my legs now, my body helpless beneath his, weakly pressed into the mattress, and I was horrified at the realization that I didn't halfway hate it. I was terrified. But I couldn't help the physical reaction our close proximity was causing my body. My cheeks flushed, my eyelashes fluttering in mortification against my cheeks, and I heard him laugh breathlessly above me.

"Yes, yes, yes," he exhaled heavily, gripping tighter at my thigh. "I bet he touches you just like _this_, right _here_. Makes you _mewl_ and _whimper_ like some kind of _nympho_. Am I right? Hmm?"

His soft cooing above me caused a shiver to jolt through me, and I kept my eyes closed. I couldn't let him read my eyes, I _couldn't_. He was too good at that.

"Look at me."

I ignored his soft, abrasive command. No. Don't give in. don't let him win.

I nearly laughed out loud at this.

He'd already won the moment he walked through my door.

I was done for, eventually. I knew this. But I couldn't go without any integrity – and sickeningly enough, part of me wanted to _please_ the maniac pressed against me because I knew _he_ wouldn't want me to leave this earth without an ounce of honor.

"Open your eyes and _look_ at me," the command rang out from above me again, the volume of his voice slightly louder. After a moment, he let out a low growl – a cross between aggravation and pure rage. The grip his hand had on the outside of my thigh became increasingly more painful, and I bit my lower lip as he swiftly held it even tighter against his hip.

"Do you want to play this game? Do you?" He breathed against my cheek. "I'm already in a terrible mood, do you _want_ to fucking test me?"

I shook my head slowly against the cool material of my pillows.

"Then open your fucking eyes and _look_ at _me_."

After a long moment, I tentatively opened my eyes. His face was above mine, as expected, his eyes gleaming violently down at me and his red-slicken lips parted and allowing little pants to escape. My gaze met his own hooded eyes, and for that instant, the only sound between us was the heavy breathing.

Under other circumstances, one might think this was a steamy love escapade between two frustrated lovers. One might assume that the quarrel would be settled within those few minutes through a series of heavy kisses and clothes being torn from one another.

For a moment even _I_ had such thoughts running through my mind – with his face and lips so close, his gaze so intensely locked on my own – I didn't know if it was completely out of realm to think that such a thing could happen.

And then I felt something… something firm, hard, coming from the inside of his thigh. It was pressed against my inner thigh predominantly and after a few registered clicks within my mind, my eyes widened.

He saw this and grinned, rolling his hips against mine, and I felt the firm object pressed even harder against my thigh. My eyes widened further when I recognized that the hardness against me wasn't what I automatically assumed – no, no, that was completely out of the norm for Jack. The hardness I felt so persistent against the sensitive flesh of my inner thigh was the handle of a blade.

I swallowed thickly.

Oh, _God_.

He licked his lips quickly, the brief image of his scarlet tongue appearing before retreating back into the cavernous hole of his mouth. He grinned, his teeth looking so absolutely revolting and yellow and _straight_, and I wanted to take that _blade_ from his pants and slit my own throat because I was so _stupid_ to always counteract my negative thoughts with positive ones.

"So predictable," he murmured after a moment, a few stray curls falling into his face, which was so young and familiar right then and there. "The compassionate _teacher_, living in a comfortable _suburb_ with the _love _of her _life_ – " he paused, a darkness crossing over his features for a moment, his lips pulled back into a snarl. "Tell me, is he _everything_ you ever _dreamed_ of? Is he _suave_ and _sentimental_ and intelligent?" His fingers curled into my flesh, causing a series of sharp pains to erupt over the area, but I kept my eyes open and locked on his. "Does he tell you he _loves_ you every day, while he's _fucking_ you and snuggling on the couch with you?"

My mouth felt dry. "I..."

"You thought you could keep this a secret from me, didn't you?" he muttered quietly. I watched as his adam's apple bobbed within the column of his throat. His nostrils flared, and he shook his head, his eyes menacing and his lips curled in that same sneer. "Thought that you could stay away and move on… thought you could _leave_ me – "

"I waited for you," I interrupted, much louder than anticipated. I blinked rapidly, forcing myself to maintain the eye contact, and licked at my dry lower lip. "I… I waited for years, you… you were gone. I waited…y-you know I did."

His eyes searched mine quickly, their surfaces gleaming in the low lighting of my bedroom. His head dipped lower, the movement subtle and almost unnoticed, and I froze at the sight of his nearing lips.

Was he going to _kiss_ me?

As his lips neared mine, looking repulsive and horrendous and as _full_ and supple as I'd remembered, my mind was in a frenzy and my heart hammered against the ribs of my chest. They inched closer, and I felt soft pants of breath escaping his warm mouth and brushing against the moist surface of my own, and my hand trembled in anticipation, waiting in astonishment.

The moment was broken immediately upon the sound of a rapid knocking at my front door.

His head jerked up at the sound echoing from the foyer at the front of the apartment, his eyes suddenly alert and shining with malice. Another swift series of knocks met my ear canal, and suddenly his black eyes were locked on mine again. They weren't soft as they'd been moments prior, though, and I could feel anger radiating from his body.

Someone was at the door.

**AN: I wrote this months ago, kinda sloppily after ch eight. I didn't really proof read it. But I was happy w/ it while I wrote it. It flowed well. So that was enough for me. Anyway, I hope you liked this.**


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